I’m half way down the coulee and I’m drinking coffee from Michael’s old “You’re the One I Love” anniversary mug. I had almost put the mug back in the cupboard when I had noticed it was the one with the straw haired girl sitting in a boat with a dark haired man, adrift in reeds and pink wispy clouds. Michael and I had had a fight last night about the dishes, and had both gone to sleep angry; stupid mug! But the line, suck it up, kept my hand on the handle.
Crunch, crunch, crunch goes the gravel under my runners. The lighting seems pale, a little washed out. Not bright. Not dull. Just there. I have prepared nothing to think about. I sip my coffee. What do I do? Make something up? I swig a drink, rich, bold, earthy. I look into the sky and there are small, marshmallow cloud swirls. The tiny moon could be a cloud itself.
I hang the cup on the same stubby branch. Guess I haven’t focused on promises, and then I’m thinking about my marriage again, and angry. Why couldn’t he apologize? I jump down onto the road and walk. A panorama of teepees, arbour, campers, tents, trucks, cars, field, hills, sky, lake line up in my camera. I’m already sad that these folks will likely be gone next Monday.
I’m past the governance Centre, past the hospital, and heading across a field when I remember the vows I wrote twenty-two years ago on a piece of foolscap, and then rolled into a scroll, and tied with a teal ribbon. I’ve lost my vows. I wish I had them, but would that make me act any differently if I had my check list? Makes me think that with oral knowing, there is a spirit that must be passed on, if the details are not exactly word for word. I don’t need my vows to know the spirit of being in a marriage relationship. A list of “I do’s” mean nothing without the spirit of love, service, and humility in which they were signed. Makes me sorry that I didn’t apologize last night.