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Communication, in spite of ourselves

Before I got married in 1994, the dozen-or-so people who worked at Ragan then threw a little party for me and got me a little gift and Larry Ragan scrawled in the card, “Stay married for 30 years and maybe you’ll know what love is.”

Last Sunday afternoon after our daughter went down for a nap, my wife felt the prehistoric need she sometimes feels but I never do, to organize our cave. Her passive aggression—“we need to look at the calendar and set a date to clean out the hall closet”—eventually struck against the flint of my active aggression and suddenly the Goddamned closet was getting cleaned, in a violent frenzy.

She yelled over the clattering and the swearing to ask she could help, and I hollered that she could get me a case of beer and a box of trash bags. So much hostile energy was generated that the freezer also got cleaned, for good measure. We must have generated 10 bags of trash.

It wasn’t pretty, but by the time Scout woke up, it was all done. No more needed to be said, and no more was. We were spent.

Early Monday morning I remembered an old John Prine tune I heard sung once, on a bus, driving through the Chinese countryside. My wife had never heard it. I found it on YouTube and played it for her.

I turned my head to hide a tear. When the song was over, she said as she walked away, “It's good. Why don't you write something like that for me someday?”

Comments (10)

Glynn:

As someone married in 1973, I can tell you that the longer you're married, the more true the song becomes. Great post, David.

Rueben:

Larry Ragan may have underestimated you, David. I don't think it's going to take you 30 years to figure out what love is. Whether you realize it or not, it sounds like you may be getting awfully close already. Good luck with the lyrics.

Reuben, I was kind of hoping this blog post would hold her for awhile. Yeah?

Eileen B.:

My work Internet won't let me listen to the song, but I was just thinking about this when packing my daughter's lunch. I don't write her enough notes in her lunch, and if I can't take 20 seconds to do that, who cares what kind of writing I produce at work, right?

Same goes for love poems to my husband. Sometimes my priorities are so screwed up.

Joan Hope:

Eileen, I know how you feel. You know what I've been doing, just because I don't think of those little love notes until I've left the house? Love text messages. I know, it's goofy; but I can send them as soon as I think of them, and my husband and daughter (who's 20) both love them (at least they say they do). When my daughter was little and I packed her lunch every day, it was a lot easier to remember; I'd cut her sandwiches into heart shapes with cookie cutters and all sorts of things like that. But now, with us all going so many directions, it's just harder to even put a note where she'll find it! Same for my husband. So for me, at least for now, it's e-love. LOL!

Will Daniel:

I love that song, and my wife of 41 years loves it. I have the DVD of that performance. All of my kids and grandkids love it too!

Will

Rueben:

I'm sure your wife would find your post almost as nice as a song, David. In fact, if your singing voice is as bad as mine, she'd probably prefer you stick with blogging.

David: I have to admit that this song beats the hell out of, "Get Your Biscuits in the Oven and Your Buns in the Bed." :-)

David, thank you for sharing. I'd never heard that song before but now I'm going to send it to my hubby. LOL!

Yep, that's a great song, all right. I've been married 23 years, and it's still the best decision I've ever made. Gets better all the time.
Greg

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This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on January 30, 2008 7:37 AM.

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