My Kitchen Wall

I came home from an interpreter's conference a week ago to find my kitchen wall painted purple. Brad had painted the kitchen while I was gone. Let me back up, if I may, to six months ago when we first moved in to our house. The kitchen, I patiently explained to Brad, was entirely too institutional. White walls, white refrigerator, white cabinets. All white. It was so stark and so plain and so cold. That might have been partly due to the fact that it was February but you see my point. Anyway. Painting seemed like an obvious choice to deal with the institutional-ishness and considerably cheaper than ripping out all the cabinets or buying a new refrigerator. The problem was, Brad wanted to paint the kitchen a pale bluish-grey while I wanted a deep plum-purple and neither one of us could see things from the other's perspective.

Brad wanted something cool and calming and something that wouldn't make the room look smaller. I wanted a color different than our blue living room, green dining room, or cranberry foyer. Plus, ya know, purple is my favorite color. Oh! And I thought the purple would go lovely with the white and grey floors in the kitchen. Plus, it's not like I wanted to pain the ENTIRE kitchen deep plum-purple. Not at all. I just wanted one wall. But all my well thought out arguments were seemingly fruitless against him. Brad wouldn't budge. In fact, he was so insistent that he was right and I was wrong, every time we had anyone over he would ask them their opinions as to the great paint debate. All the women would ooo and ahhh over my deep plum-purple scheme while all the men would shake their heads behind all the women and then nod in a torrent of agreement whenever Brad brought up pale bluish-grey. It seemed a hopeless case. Then suddenly last week I come home to a purple wall in my kitchen. No, not just a purple wall, a deep plum-purple wall.

When I asked him why, why just like that he had caved and allowed me to have the color I wanted in our kitchen, he said, "I dunno. I just wanted to do something nice for you." Yes. Wow, "I have a good man", I thought to myself. Which is actually what my mother said when I relayed this story to her. "You have a good man, Molly." I do. But here's something even more. Last Friday, Brad went with me to take a ballroom dance class. That's right. A ballroom dance class. It is something we've talked about for a while now but I never really thought he'd go through with it. I just thought that maybe the idea of it was kind of romantic to him and that's where it ended. But no, he and I actually went and learned the box step, the simple salsa, and the basic swing. We had so much fun we are going back this Wednesday for a private lesson. When I told THAT to my mom she said, "Okay, I was wrong. You have a great man." And indeed I do. Brad is a great man. So great, in fact, I think I just might marry him.

Seriously. Brad and I are getting married in a 10 1/2 months. That is at one and the same time the most exciting and the most terrifying of things. I am excited to marry him, to join hands in front of all of our friends and family and say "I do. Forever." I am so excited for that. But I am also scared because I know the reality of the situation is that a relationship is so fragile - so very fragile. And it can be crushed in an instant. I look at John and Beth, friends of my family, who have been married for over ten years. They have a beautiful son, Sam, who is eight. And they are one of those couple who you just knew would be together forever. You just knew it. Then a few weeks ago Beth tells John she doesn't want to be in the marriage any more. Just like that. She had already phoned her lawyer. They are getting a divorce. They will be John and Beth no more. Just like that. Now, I don't know all of the what I'm sure are many sorted details about what went down in that relationship. But I think I can safely say that when they walked down the aisle and when they said "I do. Forever.", they meant it. Just like Brad and I will say it and mean it in 10 1/2 months.

I am reminded of the Don Henley song "For My Wedding" that goes,

For my wedding, I don't want violins

Or sentimental songs about thick and thin.

I want a moment of silence and a moment of prayer

For the love we'll need to make it in the world out there.

To want what I have,

To take what I'm given with grace,

For these things I pray

On my wedding day.

So what makes us any different from all the others

Who have tried and failed before us?

Maybe nothing. Maybe nothing at all.

But I pray we're the lucky ones. I pray we never fall.

It's true. Brad and I, just starting our lives together, are not any different than John and Beth once were starting out their lives together. We are full of hopes and dreams and love and lots and lots of faith. We have faith in each other. And, perhaps even more than that, we each have faith in our self; faith enough to wake every morning and say, "Today I choose to love this person lying beside me. I make the conscious choice to give you my love and respect and honor. I am your partner." We talk about that often, Brad and I do. We talk about the fact that loving is a choice and we tell each other what we have chosen. And maybe that is enough for now. Maybe we just take it one day at a time, love fully and extremely each day that passes, and tell each other how much we love the other. Maybe...that is enough. Maybe it just is. But even if he didn't tell me how much he loved me every day, I'd still know. All I'd have to do is look at my kitchen wall.