I had planned to repeat my Facebook-Free February this year, but I haven’t done a very good job today. I suppose it could be Facebook-Free March or April. We’ll see. Maybe, I’ll start a day late.
As my husband headed off to bed tonight, he looked down at me (I was working on my laptop on the couch) and smiled with his whole face as he struggled to find the right words. “You…are…a…squirrely…rascally…challenge!”
I laughed out loud. “You know, she’s a very difficult person,” his future mother in law warned.
Well, his comment reminded me of something else. He reminded me of one a Shakespeare’s Sonnets I had included it in a poetry book I made him 34 years ago, when he left Long Beach, California for Boston, Massachusetts. He was coming here to study the saxophone with Jerry Bergonzi. This was his dream come true. We were just friends, but I was already in love with him. So, I decided to make him a poetry book. What is a poetry book? Well, it’s a scrapbook of poems or quotes, with pictures collected from magazines or greeting cards. Maybe, photo copied from a book. It wasn’t a gift you gave just anyone—only your very best friends.
So, on the night before he flew out, I drove over to see him to say good-bye. That’s what friends do, right? We hung out for awhile, and I gave him his gift as I was leaving—some time after midnight. I drove away in my ’72 Toyota Corona—missing floor board on the passenger’s side and a trunk that only stayed closed with a bungee cord—and I prayed and rejoiced and felt incredible peace. Oh, I definitely cried my eyes out, too. I knew I would never see him again. His poetry book was my last bid to leave my mark on his life.
I know it’s small potatoes, but we’re celebrating our 33rd Anniversary soon, and I’m grateful for a husband who loves a “challenge.” 🙂
So, this is the sonnet. Figured I should share. You can see I made his poetry book in a music notebook, instead of a scrapbook. Seemed appropriate for a musician.
I love the picture I included—it related to the poem on the facing page, too, which begins: “My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases….” (Love Poem, written by John Frederick Nims.)
It was interesting to look through that poetry book tonight. I’m glad for all the ways I’ve changed in 34 years, and for all the ways I’ve stayed just the same.