This Too Is Love

That is what I look like after crawling around under my house and tacking up electrical wire to one hundred and fifty-year old beams.
I must be the craziest crazy person in the world because really? Crawling under the house and tacking up electrical wire doesn't frighten me as much as, oh say, going to Walmart would.
Or driving to Jacksonville.
Those things give me the heebee-jeebies just to think about but somehow I can slither on my belly like a reptile wearing an industrial-strength face mask over centuries old dust-fine dirt with shards of glass and metal in it underneath spiders and who-knows-what-all without worrying too much.

I'm not saying it's pleasant, but there are plenty of things I'd rather NOT do.

Like driving to Jacksonville. Or decorating for Christmas.

And I felt like I had to. Mr. Moon's been doing it for the past few days, trying to figure out and fix an electrical problem and since he's twice as big as I am, the space is half as large for him under there. And he really has a problem with small spaces so it's been one big getting-past-fear-fest for him. I didn't get too freaked out until I crawled into a space where only my head would fit in order to try and get a visual on a line. I was wedged between an old brick pillar and some ductwork and oh yes, there was some sort of animal burrow in there too.



But it was okay, although I couldn't see what I needed to. It's dark down there. And the dusty dirt rises up and gets in your nostrils and mouth, even with a mask on. When Mr. Moon blows his nose it's not pretty and there's blood involved.

It was almost exactly five years ago that I crawled under this house for the first time. Mr. Moon insisted I go under there with him to see all the old termite damage, the rot, the...oh, I don't know, proof that we shouldn't buy the house.
We slipped under the floor and into the dank darkness and he shown a light on all the beams we could get to and poked them with his knife to show me what was there. We slithered and we crawled on our bellies and we were under there for quite a while, poking wood and taking note of all the ductwork that had been destroyed by some critter.

When we got out and dusted ourselves off in the drizzly January weather he said, "What did you see under there?"

And I, being the optimist in the family for the very first time said, "I saw an awful lot of really good wood."

And I had. Acres of it. Beams of the size that they don't make anymore made from hunks of pine trees with the original axe markings still on it because they were hewn by hand. There was no sawmill in Lloyd when they built this house and there was no Lowe's in Tallahassee.

And that was when he gave in. He let out a big sigh and said, "Okay."

And he bought the house. And today I crawled back under there again today, five years later, as a sign of solidarity and to help him.

Because that's love, baby.

He loved me enough to buy this house and I love him enough to crawl under it with him.
After twenty-five years of being together and raising a family and having good times and bad times and wonderful, glorious, amazing times and crying together for joy and for sorrow, I find that just looking at him, covered in dirt and snotting out dust and blood, I love him more than ever.

Oh honey. If you had to promise to all the things you'd end up doing for love, standing up there in front of the person marrying you, you'd never get through it all. "In sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer...."

Those words don't even begin to scratch the surface of what all love will take you though together. You'll go into some deep places together, places you'd never expect to find yourself, both physically and emotionally. It's like becoming a parent- no one can tell you, no one can prepare you. Which is probably a good thing.



Do you, Ms. Moon, promise to love and honor and cherish and accompany your husband under your dream house and hammer tacks into beams to hold electrical wire?"

"Uh. Hmmm. Let me think about that."

And do you, Mr. Moon, promise to love your wife so much that you'll buy her a house that you'll have to crawl under despite panic attacks and a bloody nose to keep the electricity on?"

"Not sure about that. I'll get back with you."

Yeah. That's how it would go.

But you do it. You do things you'd never imagine doing because you love that person so much that you can't let them go into dark places alone. You love that person so much that you'll buy her a house that you know is going to take more work than you want to put into it because it'll make her feel cherished and loved.

And you feel lucky to be able to do those things. Because you're doing them with the person you love.

Hell. Anyone can sit on a beach in Mexico and drink rum and be grateful and in love.
It takes a couple well-seasoned and aged to crawl under a house together and be grateful. And more in love than ever.

It's a crazy path, this love thing, this marriage thing.
And I may be the craziest crazy person on earth, but I know what I have and I have the awareness to appreciate it and the sanity to celebrate it.

And that's what I'm thinking about on this Sunday evening as the rain drizzles down outside and the electricity is working in the house where I live with my love.