Another Day but Not Really

There’s a beautiful struggle each year in late June.  For me, it approaches with great expectation and gratitude, like the advent of a new college football season or a new book by one of my favorite authors.  For Meridith, the occasion looms like a scheduled colostomy.  It represents more than just a date on the calendar.  Rather, it serves as a fresh reminder that what goes up, must come down.  Well, at least for me.

Recently, Meridith received a letter in the mail.  An invitation, really.  She’d been expecting it for decades but not fully prepared for the harsh reality of tangibility.  Having retrieved the day’s post, Meridith released a guttural sound that reverberated throughout the house.  It was cloaked in disgust and reinforced by exasperation.  A subtle anticipation advanced boorishly into the present and appeared in our mailbox. Meridith had been invited to join AARP.

Few unwelcome moments linger with such existential weight.  Perhaps this is an overstatement, but the moment you’re invited into an association of retirees, the world pivots ever so slightly.  If you know anything about Meridith, you know she can’t be still.  She suffers wonderfully from a severe case of wanderlust.  The secret, she insists, is to keep moving.  We’ve lived in the same house for over nine years.  I still can’t believe it.  Most days, she moves the furniture around just to make our home look like a new and different destination.  Most often, I wear close-toed shoes  just to keep from stumbling over a piece of furniture that was previously stationed elsewhere just a few hours earlier.

While contemplating how to embrace her newfound status as a prospective member of  AARP, I devised a plan to mollify my wife’s foul spirit.  After tossing the day’s junk mail into the trash, I skillfully and warmly embraced my wife.  After holding her for a moment, I whispered, “You know what this means?” I asked.  “We’re growing old together,” answering my own question.  This did not have the desired effect.  I can’t say for sure, but I think using the words “old” and “together” in the same sentence pretty much sealed my fate.

Even so, Meridith’s mood was lifted considerably when she attended a birthday party hosted by close friends who insisted on celebrating her into the next season of life.  As luck would have it, I was invited to this soiree as well.  After surveying the caliber, class and grace of those in attendance, one of Meridith’s college roommates commented, “Girl, you friended up.”  Though I didn’t know “friend” was a verb, I found myself thinking, “Actually, it’s the other way around.  These amazing people have actually friended up by knowing and loving Meridith.”

Meridith likes to exercise her free spirit by celebrating birthdays “on the road.”  Can’t say for sure, but you won’t find her moving furniture or rearranging family pictures this time of year.  Most likely, you’ll find her scaling mountains, forging streams or discovering new lands.  Capturing perfectly her unbounded spirit, a poet once wrote:

An iron cast communion takes hold of twin hearts turning toward one another. Together, they travel toward the season where leaves don’t fall and hearts don’t harden from the frost.

Yep.  That’s where we’re headed.  Me and this beautiful poet that I married.  For each birthday acknowledged, willfully or grudgingly, I’m grateful.  One more year of “together.”  So on the day that’s “just another day,” I extend a warm embrace to the woman who’s more breathtaking than ever.  We share an iron cast communion.  I can’t wait to travel toward the next season with you.