We are the Lucky Halves

I'm sitting here listening to a voice compilation, and I look up and stop my husband of 30 years by inquiring, "Are you coming downstairs or heading to the garage?" He mumbles a response and states he is heading downstairs instead of the garage. But often, it is the garage, so one can't know. Nonetheless, the downstairs it is. So now my task begins. My choices become either television that he will watch, which may change, or the television he will not watch. Instead, he will put in earbuds, surf Amazon and give up the occasional glance. My actions are influenced. He prefers I am in the room, but he loves to control the television. While I love him dearly, sometimes I wish he'd go to the garage. Then, there is no television.

That moment becomes a kind of freedom. I can drift into my creative mind and journey back to joyful memories. Today, because of ravioli, I am remembering my thirties, and this is a memory of long ago. I feel beautiful, reminiscing on the feeling of being thin and lithe. My world is exceptional. My man, that man of 30 years, is gorgeous…simply amazing in my eyes. We are one in our plans and hopes, and our sexuality is explosive. Well, of course, it is. Our bodies are perfect. The sun reflects off my golden bleached hair, and his blue eyes sparkle. Toned and tanned from the California sun, we are so in love.

He chuckles and then bursts out into a belly laugh. I snap back from my thoughts and notice he has chosen the earbuds. He must be watching something slapstick and enormously silly. I secretly yawn. Pausing, I wish he'd chosen the garage. Then I can again indulge in my creative world of painting, writing, and turning the television off. I pause and smile as I get lost in thought. He is standing before me, beautiful, grinning, and mine. At thirty-five, he is my fantasy, my love, my world. I remember lying in bed at night watching him sleep and breathe. With every rise of his chest, my yearning increased. I want him instantly, now, and every moment I watch.

Am I constantly drifting off into the land of memories and make-believe? Well no. Let me explain.

Sometimes when shopping, I witness that energetic connection I have personally experienced in my past, in my relationship. I see couples leaning into one another, holding hands, their stride in sync. I imagine the passionate love they make over and over again. I remember how delicious that lovemaking is. Ah, how often I miss it. The world envies lovers, you know. Real lovers may inhabit two bodies but are really living in one soul. These unique ethereal moments transcend this earthly plane, and the two journey to an inexplicable state of being. Bliss. It's that special place where only the two of you are allowed. It is full of secrets, nuance, kindness, teasing, and innuendo.

So today, I went to pick up some takeout. Our local delicatessen has been on the corner for seventy years. As a little girl, I came with my mom on Fridays before the crowd to pick up the Rav's for Sunday dinner. Well, my habit for grabbing convenient, great meals continues, and I take my place in line. I am waiting, and in front of me is a male physique. Broad-shouldered and tall, he was handsome in his own way. But that is not what caught my attention. I could feel it, sense it. He was a partner in what I have titled 'The Lucky Halves.' These individuals connect on so many levels that for some inexplicable reason, they ignite an eruption of energy, synchronicity, and charm. It's been called the "It Factor" or "That Something Special." He was one of those men, his other half was not even present, and I could feel her, their connectedness, the intensity of their energy. I looked around, wondering if anyone had caught me blushing.

What compels me to become nearly flooded with these feelings? I know better than to ask. I understand the thin sampling of lambency is a fleeting peek into the other realms. It commands effulgence yet remains as soft as a whispered breath against my cheek. I politely stand, throwing my glances toward the floor, reliving my own moments of long ago. I have learned that if I can't selfishly appreciate the gift of this experience, well then, it is lost. Why? It is because it departs just as quickly as the magic arrives. Would you not embrace the experience and recognize the gift for what it is? As I see it, to physically, emotionally, and spiritually remember a memory of your own love is the secret to living. To truly love, passionately, and honestly is the gift of being part of the lucky halves. Not everyone has been a lucky half.

Wouldn't you know it, he nods in my direction and states, "My first time here, I've heard this food is the bomb!" "Yes, yes, it is. I've been coming here since I was a little girl. The ravioli are the best." Oh, crap, what did I just say? Suddenly I was that sixty-year-old woman answering his cute, crinkly eyes. Okay, sixty-three, but I'm not eighty! Am I wearing a red-checkered apron and babushka on my head? He smiled with appreciation and turned to place his order. As he waited to be served, he added, "Tonight is our first anniversary. I promised I would cook! I think she's going to love these. Thanks for your help!" He must have associated my age with wisdom. He continued, "Merlot or a Cab? What do you think?" His enthusiasm was warm, inviting, and so sexy. One lucky lady, I thought to myself. I smiled at his warm expression and replied, "Go with the Merlot." I thought of describing a Merlot; soft, ripe, and elegant for him. But only added, "It's a great fit." Juggling his new purchases, I watched in envy as he slipped out the door, sending one last grin of appreciation in my direction.

The earbuds come out, and with his sweet smile, my husband engages once more. Yes, my day was fine. Yes, the kids are good. We settle into comfort. I can hear the younger generation stating, why on earth would you sit in a room when you don't even want the television on? Why, when you don't even like the television? I sit and hang out for the same reasons he asks, who's compilation were you listening to? It's a subtle dance of give-and-take intertwined with thoughtful consideration. He appreciates that I sit, and I appreciate that he asks. I believe he tries to understand why a voice compilation interests me. I am certain I wonder why slapstick makes him laugh every single time.

The love is still there, the respect, appreciation, kindness, and of course, our friendship. I feel he still loves me dearly. There is a history with me, a life together, a family we have raised together. Yes, we have grown, and some of it is in separate directions, but we remain better together than apart. Growing old demands that we physically let go of the delicious experiences of sexual love, perfect bodies, and our idealistic dreams and aspirations. We now share our deepest fears and laugh together at our foibles. Sex has become a challenge. We giggle at our failed attempts, cheer at our successes, and understand that trying is what matters.

Is the love that has endured enough? The answer is emphatically yes! Because of encounters like today, I am reminded of exhilarating dates. And, because of those elegant Merlots we have shared over the years, I luxuriate in the memories we have made. It all began with our own first date of ravioli, French bread, and a bottle of Merlot. It has become comfortable...familiar. My husband of over thirty years is my best friend. I smile because I know that we are the lucky halves.