Well, I am sorry to say, my lost post never magically re-appeared, but after much encouragement I found the time and courage to try and re-write it. It’s not perfect (at least not what I think to be perfect) but it is a decent reflection of what I wanted to share about my One STRANGE but Beautiful Life. Enjoy!
Can I let you in on a little secret? I love being married to a musician. Ssshhhhh….don’t tell his parents I said that and certainly don’t tell him that. Recently, I finished reading The Paris Wife and I could relate to Hadley as she followed Hemingway around Europe, putting up with his moody temperament (not that Ben has the Hemingway temper). She never faltered in her support for his work, all the while, never knowing what the next season of their life would look like. I thought about this the other night as we laid in bed and he concentrated on his music.
For the last couple of weeks, my mom and her husband have been staying with us. We gave them our bed while we took up residence in our office. It’s not a very big room and when the futon is pulled out there is about a foot between the bed and the keyboard. So the other night as Ben laid beside, me pouring over his Salve Regina he would occasionally reach over to strike a note on the keyboard and then return, unfazed to his position. Life is full of this kind of surreal moments when you are married to a musician. Everyday moments, like pausing to guess the interval a bird chirps or the tone that a bell chimes, at which point, he must pull out his pitch pipe, agonizingly reminding himself that he doesn’t have perfect pitch.
At one point I thought about changing the name of my blog to Life as a Musician’s Wife because when you are married to an artist life doesn’t exactly look like the American Dream. Before Ben, almost 10 years ago, I dated an accountant (I use the term “dated” loosely). From the moment I heard of this scruffy guitar player turned metro accountant I knew wanted woo him and make him fall in love with, because at 20 years old I thought I was ready to settle down and get married. My plan worked perfectly and before long I could see, within my grasp, the life I had always dreamed of as a child. I would go into nursing and he would become a CA for KPMG. We would live in the suburbs with our 2.5 children and drive a sporty SUV. I remember watching my picture perfect life take shape in my mind as I laid on the grass in Stanley Park pretending to read Oprah’s latest pick while he played guitar and a cricket match resonated in the background. It was perfect. We were perfect and yet instead of having a feeling of sheer satisfaction it scared the crap out of me. I realized that I didn’t want the glowing Thomas Kincaid house I pictured in my mind, no, I realized what I really wanted, was a Picasso. I didn’t want to know what my life was going to look like 10 years from now, or 20 or 30. So I told William (formally Bill) that whatever it was that we had, had to end….besides, I wasn’t physically attracted to him anyway…he was a little too short…and a little too metro.
Two months later, I re-met Ben (apparently, I had met him before but, bad me, didn’t remember) and ever since I have never known exactly what the next year would bring, where we would live or how we would make it financially. Ten years ago, I could never have fathomed some of the adventures that we have had. No, life certainly doesn’t look like I thought it would. We dine at High Table on Friday night (okay, not every friday) and ease into Saturday morning with one of Wagner’s boisterous operas. I am never sure what position I will find my husband in, family vacations are determined by where a composer resided or was buried and chances are, Ben will probably never have a 9-5 job, at least I hope he doesn’t because it would mean that he sold out and became an office monkey.
I never dreamt nor planned on being married to a musician, in fact, I always believed I would marry a doctor or a lawyer and Ben is definitely not the perfect man of of my dreams, sort of like Ella is not the daughter I always thought I would have, but clearly God had a point to make in my life: perfection is what HE makes it. It is not what the world tells you is perfect but what He has deemed perfect. I could not ask for a more perfect husband or father for my children, nor could I ask for a more perfect baby girl or big brother for her because I know they are all from Him. And for them, I am thankful.
Do not be deceived, my beloved brothers. Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. Of his own will he brought us forth by the word of truth, that we should be a kind of firstfruits of his creatures.
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