"Why do we hurtle ourselves
Through every inch of time and space?
I must say around some corner
I can sense a restin' place
With every lesson learned
A line upon your beautiful face
We'll amuse ourselves one day
With these memories we'll trace"
- Get Out The Map, Indigo Girls
Scrapbook memories as Joe and I celebrate our wedding anniversary. My mind's pages, caching moments through the meanings we cultivate, in consecrated celebration of our mortal doom. Finite breaths fogging the lens of the gods envy. Life can be beautiful.
The day I met Joe. Lisa, from Hebrew class, invited me to hang with some of her friends. Ascending the stairs to the second floor of Java Roaster, I couldn’t help but notice this cool, good lookin' guy in a corner chair, chillin' to the live music, IBC root beer in hand. I didn't know he was a part of the group at first. In asking around, I found he was but also taken. We never talked. But we did zing! Later that night, calling home from my dorm room, "Mom, tonight I met the man I'm going to marry!" Sorry Sarah! Only took him three years to ask me out.
Becoming The Bibby's. February 1, 2003, our one-year-dating anniversary. My Joe, so sweet; flowers and cards arrived the first day each month. This day was different. A wintry prairie cloaked in fresh fallen snow. Glowing candles in the farmhouse windows. The driver halts the sleigh; Joe and I walk arm in arm under a magnificent sunset. Joe turns to face me while removing a piece of paper from his outer coat pocket. As he recites beautiful words, he kneels and reaches into his inner coat pocket...spoiler...I said yes. It may have been on condition he'd go hunting with me and get his motorcycle license. I would've said yes anyway!
Bibby Lane was established June 26, 2004. Joe, fitting his style, made a logo for our email. Wherever we are, as long as we're together, Bibby Lane is home. There has been a Bibby Lane of Indianapolis. A Bibby Lane of Webster. And now Bibby Lane on the Bayou in Houston.
Bibby Babies. Our JuneBug arrived the month of our fifth anniversary at 41 weeks. He's as chill as his Daddy. Incredibly compassionate. Yes, he was an Ike Baby, though we never lost power, ha! Baby firefly was born to heaven September 9, 2011. I wrote My Reverie through our grief. Then LoveBug came precisely at 2:25 on 2/25 at 37 weeks. She'd tried to come at 34. My spunky wildflower always has plans of her own. Each babe, so special, so beautiful in spirit. They will change the world.
Bibby Bands. Our united soul-roots nourish our Spirit Tree, carved with HDR+JAB initials inside a heart. Every five years Joe adds a growth ring. Layers of time and season wholly precious. My first ring is my solitaire, our engagement. My second is my wedding ring, a spiral of diamonds, our partnership in life and commitment to the hard work of soul-work, for always. My third ring contains five diamonds in a row, our first five years with just us. Youth, new, stumbling, excitement, passionate love. My fourth ring has four diamonds separated, our established family of unique souls, bound in love, rich and fortified.
Ballads and Ditties of the Texas Bibby's.
Our journey. Trials come and go. We've been to hell. Good times and joy persist. We witness heaven on earth. I cherish our journey. I so completely-off-the-charts-eyes-wide-open cherish our journey. Every moment a gift. My surgeries have given me a second and third chance, a reality never lost on me; not a day goes by where I don't thank above. I don't take for granted that I can cook dinner. I don't take for granted that I can easily run an errand. I don't take for granted that I can be present with my children. I don't take for granted the amazing, gifted and remarkable man sitting across the table. My Joe, my world, my anchor that holds me. I remain in awe of the wonderment of our journey and the capacity for even greater depths of love. Wayfaring, creative spirits. Fierce in our love, fiercely in love. Babe, "It's a real time for celebrating cause you're my zing!"
Fourteen years ago a boy married a girl.
weighted with pronounced edges
licked finger hooks the margin
folding it onto itself
Black lines blur to black
an almost promise
to contain whatever
I do not wish remember
A page no longer blank
scribbled out lines
filled with life
filled with the motion of love