October 30: "Music Lessons," Flesh and Bone of Home, Wife's 50th Birthday

Mary Oliver takes . . .

Music Lessons

by:  Mary Oliver

Sometimes, in the middle of the lesson,

we exchanged places.  She would gaze a moment at her

     hands

spread over the keys; then the small house with its knick-

     knacks,

its shut windows,

its photographs of her sons and the serious husband,

vanished as new shapes formed.  Sound

became music, and music a white

scarp for the listener to climb

alone.  I leaped rock over rock to the top

and found myself waiting, transformed,

and still she played, her eyes luminous and willful,

her pinned hair falling down--

forgetting me, the house, the neat green yard,

she fled in that lick of flame all tedious bonds:

supper, the duties of flesh and home,

the knife at the throat, the death in the metronome.

I took music lessons for almost 12 or 15 years when I was young, and I remember those times when my piano teacher would take control of the bench and play something.  It was always a thrill for me, watching her flee, in that lick of musical flame, all the tedious bonds of the world and life.  Children.  Husband.  The flesh and bone of home.  

Cue the opening piano chords to "The Rose."

Speaking of the flesh and bone of home, today was my wife's 50th birthday.  Of those 50 years, we have been together for 34 of them, married for 28 of them.  That's a long time.  It hasn't always been easy.  Some of those years have been filled with growing pains--loss, grief, estrangement.  Some of those years have been marked by celebration--weddings, births, graduations.  As I've said in previous posts, you can't have light without darkness, joy without sadness  

My wife inspires me daily to be a better person--a better partner, husband, father, teacher, poet, friend.  She's done that for me since the day we first met.  After being together for almost 35 years, you would think that I'd be damn near perfect by now.  I'm not, of course.  But that's the other part of love--accepting a person's flaws and failures, as well.

I went out to Red Lobster for dinner with my wife and son tonight.  Her choice.  We had a great meal (accompanied by a few great drinks) and capped it off with some kind of molten lava brownie ice cream dessert.  My son, as a birthday present for my wife, didn't complain about being tired or bored the entire time we were eating.  That's pretty good for a 15-year-old boy.

It takes a lot of practice to become proficient at the piano, as Mary Oliver hints.  Anything you want to do well requires hard work, and marriage is hard work.  After almost 30 years, I still need practice, because I fuck up frequently.  

My wife knows that, and she still loves me.  

Saint Marty wishes his beautiful bride a joyous fiftieth birthday.  Hopefully, she'll share a few leftover Cheddar Bay Biscuits with him tomorrow.