37

December 28, 1987 -- the night before our wedding

Mario and I will be married thirty-seven (37) years today—at 7:00 p.m. Our wedding took place four days after Christmas and one day after my 25^th birthday.

It was an unusual time of year to plan a wedding, but it was ours and we were happy. Our families, anticipating the usual holiday busy-ness, didn’t necessarily agree.  

“You’ve been complaining your whole life about your birthday,” my mom said, when I told her the date of our wedding. “Now you’re going to get married a day after it?”

“It’s what we want,” I said, a little embarrassed. Truthfully, Mario was a State Park Ranger, and I was a dispatcher for CalFire, so we joked about scheduling our wedding on December 29^th because it was our day off together—Tuesday.    

Despite the unusual-ness of it, our families got on board and looked forward to our wedding. The morning of December 29, 1987, Mario called me at my parents’ house, as I was getting ready to take a bubble bath, to tell me he had the stomach flu.

“I’ve been throwing up all morning,” he said. I could hear the muffled conversation of his groomsmen in the background, cleaning up the breakfast dishes.

“Are you sure it’s the flu?” I asked, more hopeful than I should have been. Mario was an athlete and knew his body well.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Can you go through with it?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said. “Just don’t expect…. I’ll be there.”

He was there, but his face was as white as his tuxedo, and slightly damp. Nevertheless, he smiled and was able to remember his hand-written vows by heart. He endured the long service, gave me a double kiss to seal the deal, and walked down the aisle with me to applause and triumphant organ music. As soon as we exited the church into the crisp December night, Mario took a hard right and puked in the boxwood bushes.

When he was finished, he wiped his chin with the back of his hand and said, “Sorry, babe.” A moment later, during our silent walk to the vestiary, where we were supposed to meet the wedding party for pictures, he said something else: “I can’t believe I made it.”

Two days later, on our honeymoon, Mario was better, but I was sick. I caught his flu and was in bed, weakened by a night of vomiting. Unable to lift my head off the pillow, I mumbled something of an apology:

“If I had to get married with this flu, I don’t know if I could do it.”

So, that was our wedding day—not the fairy-tale version that lived in my head, or the “happiest day of my life”— the sobering reality that life doesn't always work out like you plan it. If our wedding was a precursor of our life together, it foreshadowed how we, a couple desperately in love, would have to have a sense of humor to roll with the punches.

Our wedding day was saved by an evening start time—Mario would have never been able to stomach getting married in the morning. The sickness he had, a 24-hour bug, was on its way out. After the post-ceremony puking, he felt a lot better. The church, still decorated with twinkling Christmas lights and poinsettias, glowed with warmth. Outside, the cold air, and the stars lighting up the sky, made the night feel magical and holy.

Our unusual wedding was the precursor of a genuinely unusual marriage. We’ve raised children together, have worked and volunteered alongside each other, traveled (and lived) all over the world, and have endured more hardships than most people I know. But, we also have joy. We treasure a deep, abiding love for one another—a romance that takes work to keep alive.

By most people’s evaluation, Mario and I are opposites. His athletic, analytical, gentle-hearted nature draws people into the warmth of  his friendship. He loves good cigars, aged scotch, and watching sports. I’m creative, impulsive, obsessive, and outgoing enough to be slightly annoying. I unwind by refinishing furniture, and when I do sit down, it’s to eat something, or read a book. Our marriage is solidified by great bonders—things we agree are the most important things in life—faith, family, and a shared love and respect for one another.

When people ask us about our wedding day, we usually pass on telling the story, but say something encouraging, like, “It wasn’t perfect, but it worked, maybe better than it should have.”

In truth, the best I can say about our wedding day, and maybe about our marriage, is that Mario showed up and made the best of it. Despite the flu, he did what he promised to do, and even more. He not only went through the cermony, he posed for pictures afterwards, and then headed off to the reception, all without complaining. He is a man of integrity and has earned a reputation with me for keeping his promises- even the hard ones.

Happy Anniversary, babe. You are truly, genuinely, my favorite human being in the whole world, and I genuinely don’t deserve you.

ILY ~Janet

Last night--at Capital Stage in Sacramento

62

 

Me at my desk this morning. Happy Birthday to me--62!

Today is December 28, 2024, the day I turn 62, and I will love this year.

I will love it because I choose to love it, because it will contain all the terrible and horrible things that will make my faith stronger and me stronger and remind me that I’m human, still breathing and given this gift called life. I will love it because it will contain the laughter and energy of my grandchildren, the ones close to me, as well as the ones far away. I will love 2025 because every day I’m alive is a chance for me to create beautiful things—on the page, in the garden, in a piece of wood, in a classroom, in the hearts of people I love. 2025, like all years, will be a year that contains all the freedom and trappings of human life, with jerks on the road who drive like idiots and strangers who are kind and friendly in grocery stores. I love the motion of life, even when it contains death and disappointment. I love that I have family: Mario, my children, my grandchildren, and a private, protected relationship with God.

This year, for my birthday, I want to share two things: One is something I always share: the Psalm that corresponds with my birthday, the one that reminds me that God is my strength. The second thing is a poem by Mary Oliver called “Count the Roses” –which I can never read without crying. For Oliver, who wrote about nature, it contained all the mystery and miracles that life did. Breathe deeply and try to read it aloud. I hope it will refresh your journey. 

I love you.

 

Count the Roses by Mary Oliver

 Count the roses, red and fluttering.

Count the roses, wrinkled and salt.

Each with its yellow lint at the center.

Each with its honey pooled and ready.

Do you have a question that can’t be answered?

Do the stars frighten you by their heaviness and their endless number?

Does it bother you, that mercy is so difficult to understand?

For some souls it’s easy; they lie down on the sand

and are soon asleep.

For others, the mind shivers in its glacial palace,

and won’t come.

Yes, the mind takes a long time, is otherwise occupied

than by happiness, and deep breathing.

Now, in the distance, some bird is singing.

And now I have gathered six or seven deep red,

half-opened cups of petals between my hands,

and now I have put my face against them

and now I am moving my face back and forth, slowly, against them.

The body is not much more than two feet and a tongue.

Come to me, says the blue sky, and say the word.

And finally even the mind comes running, like a wild thing,

and lies down in the sand.

Eternity is not later, or in any unfindable place.

Roses, roses, roses, roses.

Psalm 62 (NASB) 

Truly my soul finds rest in God;
    my salvation comes from him.
Truly he is my rock and my salvation;
    he is my fortress, I will never be shaken.

How long will you assault me?
    Would all of you throw me down—
    this leaning wall, this tottering fence?
Surely they intend to topple me
    from my lofty place;
    they take delight in lies.
With their mouths they bless,
    but in their hearts they curse.

 Yes, my soul, find rest in God;
    my hope comes from him.
Truly he is my rock and my salvation;
    he is my fortress, I will not be shaken.
My salvation and my honor depend on God;
    he is my mighty rock, my refuge.
Trust in him at all times, you people;
    pour out your hearts to him,
    for God is our refuge.

Surely the lowborn are but a breath,
    the highborn are but a lie.
If weighed on a balance, they are nothing;
    together they are only a breath.
Do not trust in extortion
    or put vain hope in stolen goods;
though your riches increase,
    do not set your heart on them.

One thing God has spoken,
    two things I have heard:
“Power belongs to you, God,
and with you, Lord, is unfailing love”;
and, “You reward everyone
    according to what they have done.”

 

Augustine

 

Augustine Mario, born this day one year ago, was a surprise. He entered the world with a lot of prayer and a sigh of relief, two months before his actual due date. Only a week earlier, our daughter, Alicia, was life-flighted from Chico to Sacramento and Augustine was delivered to avoid severe affects of preeclampsia. 

Nevertheless, he was born relatively healthy, and we learned to rejoice despite the circumstances. His first two months, spent in the ICU, were marked by our visiting schedules, where we all scrubbed up and sanitized our phones before entering his room. Against all odds, our daughter kept her breast milk flowing to nourish him, but it was delivered with a feeding tube. He was held, cradled, cared for, and still separated from his family in the conventional way.

A child born under these circumstances is usually stressed and high maintenance. Instead, Augustine has become a child that seems satisfied, perfectly content in most ways. To this day, very simple things make him happy: the sight of his mother coming around the corner, his sisters coming home from school, windchimes, toys, his own voice, the cars that drive by on the road in front of their house. 

At one year old, a baby is a baby, but Augustine has our hearts. Even Mario, with his tough-guy exterior, melts in his presence. 

Happy Birthday, baby! Tomorrow we will ceebrate you as a family!