Moonstruck

Ah, my sweet husband and I have been moonstruck since we met. We love to gaze at the moon. I must note, however, that while our eyes train upon the same glowing disk in the nighttime sky, we rarely see the same thing.

While I gaze upon a bright celestial orb ripe with beauty and mystery and hope, a light under which one can dance and dream and float serenely . . .

"Water Baby and the Moon"
Jessie Wilcox Smith

he views a large land mass encircling the earth, showing itself in various phases throughout the month, all the while sporting an intriguing topography of pits and craters. He proudly shares this:

Gary's finest portrait of the moon in all her pock-marked glory.

When I saw this photo, my first reaction was, "Don't worry honey, with a little bit of coverup and some carefully applied powder we can cover those blemishes and no one will even notice." It's kind of like Albert Einstein and Emily Dickinson trying to describe the moon. We're both right . . . aren't we?

We've always been complimentary in the "tomato-tomahto" sense. Our backgrounds, tastes, temperaments, and all the rest clash, commingle, and cohere in such a dynamic way as to form something special we just call "The Good Life." Whenever I hear somebody report that they and their mate have never had a cross word or disagreement, I surely can't relate. The very first day I met Gary sparks flew. I (age 17) floated into the hardware section of Sears as backup help on a busy Saturday morning. Gary (age 18), a regular hardware department employee, expressed astonishment at my complete hardware ignorance (and he announced it loudly for all to hear -- more than once). I found him rude and insulting -- along with being the owner of the most amazing set of eyes . . . and those eyelashes! Wow!

A few days later he invited me on break for a slurpee, claiming he had a Susan B. Anthony dollar that he needed to get rid of (remember those one-dollar-coins the size of a quarter back in the 70s? Bad idea on someone's part). "Romantic," I thought sarcastically as I rolled my eyes and ignored the rapid beating of my heart. Did he win me over with that corny "dollar" line? Nah, but he sure took a giant step forward when he opened the door for me as we exited the store, slurpees in hand.

From that day forward he has demonstrated his willingness to "Lasso the Moon" for me. (I just LOVE that part in Capra's "It's a Wonderful Life.") We've spent many a night in upswept wonder staring at the moon, dancing by the light of the silvery moon, rowing down Moon River together, and wishing on shooting stars in serendipitous joy. The sparks still fly as we argue about the names of constellations, debate star-versus-satellite, and quibble over whether I truly saw another shooting star or merely had a suggestive eye flash. We may not agree on everything, but we do agree that when we get together sparks might fly . . . and that's not always a bad thing.

It's a Wonderful Life!