As of tomorrow, January 28, 2005, my husband and I will have been married 51 years! Ray is my friend, my lover, my companion, my sounding board, my playmate, my inspiration. . .so much more. You won't believe this, but it's true . Romeo and Juliet introduced us. Ray, who was an award-winning actor in his college days, was acing the role of Friar Lawrence, and I was the prop girl whose job it was to hand him a basket. He looked unbelievably handsome dressed in burlap -- ooh, that white hair --, and his voice sent chills. Guess he saw something to like. In less than three months, we were married. Not exactly sensible, seeing we both had a semester to go at U/AR. Money was so short, we signed up for a post-war quonset apartment the size of a single-car garage. Ray's dad loaned us the money for rings. Imagine buying matching, l4k bands for l2 bucks. Only time either of us has removed ours was when doctors had to cut Ray's off after a bad burn. A jeweler soldered it back together, bless heaven. Etching disappeared long ago.

Didn't start out to write all this.
Re the poem, the word "hit" may strike some people as ironic. It is a sad, sad day when domestic violence is the first thing that comes to mind. It is almost epidemic, and wishing is not going to make it go away. As for the drug metaphor, it is not in any way, shape, or form my intention to romanticize or make light of substance abuse. I'd be the last! Just trying to express the inexpressible. Some things are beyond the power of the finest wordsmith, aren't they? I am far from that.

Ray won't see the poem until tomorrow -- Shhhhh.:) Just had to share it with other romance lovers. It is so heartwarming to know that many of you believe deeply and passionately in capital-L Love.

Must say the poem looks pretty on the pale pastel-flowered stationery our beloved niece Marti had made up. {The drawing that inspired may be at her site, martidraws{dot}com. If you love art as much as I, take a look. Ain't a commercial, 'k? Marti no longer sells her art; designing software for the space program keeps her busy when she isn't drawing. Each drawing takes an unreal amount of time. Marti was making real money, but as writers, you and I know that the real reward is the work itself.}

Know Ray will like the poem. Hope is that he will love it. He is a big reader, but pretty much sticks to fiction. He likes Billy Collins, but who doesn't?! Hard not to get jealous.

Marriage advice--? No way. Every couple is different. Individual! Do think "for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health" belongs in vows. Don't know how a n y o n e could stick it out without humor. It is good not to hold unrealistic expectations. People c a n change. . .believe I may dish advice after all. Don't turn the dial!:)

. . .mind you, every day is a new day. . .challenge. . . . .

. . .love to hear from some of you on the subject "Every behavior has been declared a disease {syndrome, whatever}, assigned an acronym, and a diagnostic tome number for insurance purposes."

Why am I bringing this up? Ray and I are "co-dependent !" Terrible, isn't it?

AD may not accept this, it is so long.

....hook 'r' crook, I'll "git 'er done!"

Bless y'all for being so supportive.

L o v e > I S < t h e a n s w e r.
Who woulda thought?
Ray's Girl
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                        Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
                                     
I’ve narrowed my addictions to you, chocolate, and you.
You really shouldn’t wear dope in place of cologne.
Nuzzling warm scent at the base of your neck
every nerve tingles, then relaxes.   I need a hit
to get up in the morning.  I need a hit to be able
to dress.  I need a hit so I can work,  a hit
to work up an appetite, hits to read, write, sleep.
You zap-lull-zap  the  heart,  lungs, liver,  spine, veins
you say you are addicted to.   True, but I get uncut.
First choice,  top of line, right off  boat slash plane,
your voice, your hands, your sex, your laugh, your mind,
your gorgeous man legs and Adonis chest.  Real dope,
the kicker,  what will keep me hooked until I die,
is the natural sweet, heavy, yet feather light smell
at the base of your dear, darling, cool hot. . .
.say we can neck a little longer.  Pleeeeeeease?

 

 

(c) 'Pea 4 Ray

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