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I See My Friend
The last several evenings I’ve felt the rise and fall of the Pacific Ocean beneath my feet as I sail under the flickering lights and over the polished wood of Queen Elisabeth’s ballroom, my best friend in my arms.
If you are wondering how a high school educated plumber ended up on a dance floor in the middle of the ocean this lovely lady in his arms, I would have to trace the start of this adventure back over 30 years to an answer to prayer.
It was a blind date. I was a lonesome homeschooled young man just starting my 20’s. Winnie was a homesick adventurous East German exchange student just finishing her senior year at our local high school not long after the Berlin wall fell.
It was a cool day in December. I was nervous and shy. She was a serious girl with an attractive accent. We ate Italian food for dinner. We watched Whitney Houston sing I Will Always Love You at the cinema later that evening.
Six months later we were married by the justice of the peace in a little town in southern Arizona. A year later we were formally married in a 15th century church in a small town in Saxony Germany.
I remember Winnie’s steel haired grandfather, his black four wheeled carriage, and the sleek horses that pulled us to the church. I remember our first work together as husband and wife - that German tradition of sawing a log. I can almost smell the flying chips of birch wood as we pushed and pulled the bowsaw through the log.
I can still see Winnie in her bridal gown, the soft curves of her lips, the glow of the sun in her hair, and her strong hands as she grasped the sides of the worn wooden row boat as I broke the emerald green reflection of the forest, dipping the oars into the still waters of the pond that graced the front of the reception hall.
Our dancing began with a handshake on a hard mattress in a hotel in Saint Louis. We were there for a Christian authors' book convention.
Looking back, I'm embarrassed to say, Winnie had to ask more than once if I'd be willing to learn to dance with her. Really I'm ashamed, if I'm honest, because we'd been married about twenty years at this point. In all those wonderful years she rarely asked for anything for herself, but always gave 100% to everything that needed to be done.
In practical terms that 100% included (beside running our household with German efficiency), running the back end of our plumbing business (payroll, accounting, taxes, etc.) that also included, by this point in our life, nearly a decade and a half of homeschooling our five children from their first word to advanced math, plus over a decade of sitting beside each of our children for half an hour a day on a hard piano bench as they learned to play in those early years.
I can still remember coming home from work to the sound of multiple children practicing their piano lessons (we had three pianos for many years). From one room it was often just the sound of a single finger learning Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Winnie's voice of encouragement, and even sometimes the voices of frustration. From another room I'd often hear the rich full sounds of a grand piano playing the movements of a sonata.
So yes, I'd been married to a marvelous woman who gave everything she had to our family every day of her life for two decades, who poured every bit of herself into our children and their education, and here I was trying to avoid taking dance lessons with her because I didn't want to step outside my comfort zone. Wow, that sounds even worse writing it down than it sounded in my head.
I am a bit of an introvert, slow to learn, slower still when it comes to change, but I'm crazy about Winnie, so I finally agreed to take dance lessons with her. When I saw the sparkle in her eyes and the warm smile light her lips that first time we glided across the floor, I was won.
It was about that time in our life when we could have afforded a new car, but Winnie was content to drive our beat up old 12 passanger van so we could take dance lessons. She drove that old white van for another decade while I learned to drive her around the dance floor.
For Winnie and I, learning to dance well, has been one of most difficult and rewarding endeavors we've done together in our 32 years of marraige. Maybe someday I'll try writing about learning to dance with Win. It's another story of great memories and hard life lessons worth remembering and sharing. It's a story that is still in progess.
Anyway, about a year ago, after some of the most challenging years of our wonderful marriage, (Covid 19, 26 week old premi grandson in NICU, taking care of my mother who was dying with glioplastoma) Winnie, (still the adventurer after all these years) asked if I'd be interested in visiting the Panama Canal once our life returned to some semblance of normal.
She didn't have to ask twice this time.
I found her a cruise line that toured the Panama Canal and specialized in catering to couples who danced. I bought her ballgowns she didn't know about, pretty dresses, glittering heals, colorful silk scarfs, and anything else I thought might make this trip as memorable as possible.
Now as I finish reliving these memories by writing them down, my lovely lady stands in our state room, dressed to the nines, patiently waiting for me to take her dancing.
I look up and I see the young serious girl who gave her love and friendship to a friendless young man. I see the glow of that newly expectant young mother a couple of years later. I see a mother of five, pencil in her hand and a brood of chidlren around our kitchen table learning to learn. I see the farm girl, soiled denim shorts, cotton shirt, tattered hat, leather boots and a shovel in her strong brown hands as she works in our gardens. I see a grandmother of six, the lines of love and care worn into her lovely face, strands of shimmering silver in her silky hair. I see an exceptional human being. I see an answer to prayer. I see Yahweh's blessing. I see my friend.
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