The Holder of the String

One year ago today I married this man. (And they said it wouldn’t last…)

When you seek to marry (again) at 59 you know more. You decide differently. You look harder. You rate differently. Instead of dating in search of “Mr. Right” a woman finds herself dating for the purpose of finding “Why-You-Are-Mr.-Wrong” which is based on a whole separate criteria and, in my experience, took less than 10 minutes at Panera. My three years of flying through a list of Mr. Wrongs faster than a Vegas strip shuffle was not because I judged these sincere men more harshly than I judged myself. No. In fact, the opposite was true.

I know me. I know that I am stubborn. Opinionated. I know that I lead in a dance and follow only if in protection of the ones in front. I know that I ready, fire, aim and that I take risks and disdain those who don’t. I know that I jump from the diving board and hope there is water. If you follow the Enneagram I’m an 8. As is Donald Trump and Margaret Thatcher. Most women cry in watching “The Bridges of Madison County” when Clint Eastwood leaves Meryl Streep at an Iowa traffic light. I cried in “The Iron Lady” when Margaret Thatcher says in her perfect British clip “I shan't die washing tea cups! Who wants to marry that? Most men said “no thanks” and the few that were deluded, I saved from themselves.

Why Mike?

In short, I was looking for a man who could fly a kite. The man who can fly a kite loves the beauty of the kite free in the wind. He doesn’t mind if the kite makes him run to keep up and that the kite gets all the attention. He doesn’t mind being in the background while eyes from the ground focus on the kite. He doesn’t mind that the kite gets tangled occasionally and strays further from the ground than it should. Why? Because he knows he holds the string. He knows that while the kite seems independent and self-directing, it is he who has the power to direct and guide and to protect. He knows that the kite never leaves the ground without the skillful hand of the kite holder finding the wind. He knows that he controls when that kite comes home. And always, that kite comes home with him.

Mike, you have loved me more in a year than I have experienced in a lifetime. I am yours to bring home.

Happy Anniversary