Wednesday, June 6, 2012

On structure and strength

The lovely husband and I just got back from a child-free road trip. The 'purpose' was a wedding in Cincinnati, but the real purpose was a two-person vacation.

We left Maryland for a few days at a resort in mountainous central Virginia and then we drove across southern Ohio to approach Cincinnati. As we approached the city he looked at the map (his iPad) and commented, "we're really close to Kentucky."

I checked the clock. We had four hours until we needed to be at the wedding. I got really excited. "I'm turning left!"

"Why?" he asked, and I told him: "I've never been to Kentucky! It's on my list!"

Do you have a list? I've been to 34 35 states. Kentucky hadn't been on the list. And here's the lovely thing about the lovely husband: he looked at me, looked at the iPad, and starting calling out new directions.

So we spent about 15 minutes in Kentucky and then because we approached Cincinnati from Ohio's border instead of its center, we crossed this beautiful bridge:

While I drove, I gestured desperately to the lovely husband as I tried to talk him through using my phone as a camera. At first I wanted the picture because I have quilting on my mind and the bridge forms remind me of traditional flying geese quilt blocks.  But really, I've always loved bridges, or any forms that incorporate lots of negative space.


At the wedding the rabbi sermonized about the Tabernacle that was carried through the desert before the Temple in Jerusalem was eventually built. He talked about its weight and majesty: made of gold, jewel-encrusted; and he related it to the marriage he was officiating. How could they carry such a heavy object through the desert, he asked. How could they lift it? And he explained that because of its significance and its holiness, those who carried it derived strength from it. They were made stronger by the very source of their exertions.


On the way home we passed an amusement park. It was early morning so the rides weren't open yet but we saw their shapes climb against a brightening sky.

Look at the roller coaster, I said to my lovely husband. I don't really ever want to ride one anymore but they make beautiful silhouettes.

We'll celebrate our 11th anniversary this summer. We probably won't get to go anywhere because it falls immediately before our family beach vacation, which can't be moved because of camp schedules and school schedules and all this delimiting scheduling stuff that comes along with having ever-bigger kids. So this was our anniversary-ish trip. He and I: we're sturdy but we also float right along the clouds.
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