Joe and I went for a stroll after dinner last night. For the first time, ever, I am away from Toronto AND I have my power chair. I'd used it all day at the retreat and wanted to go out a bit after supper. This is a huge break from our tradition. We live very quiet, very simple, lives. We have supper, we watch a bit of television, we go to bed and read then the lights go off. We both have very busy, and often very intense, days - so our evenings are full of calm companionship.
We strolled down to the Casino, with no intention of gambling - neither of us 'get it', but instead to visit the shops that are attached to it. I am a shopper. I love to shop. Joe will either join me or, like a patient husband, sit on a bench and people watch while I spend the family fortune. Because I was motorized, he only joined me when I was making a decision on a purchase - to give his opinion - which is often simply a version of, 'Yes, dear. Whatever you like, dear.'
On our way back, we chatted, simply, about stuff.
Again, and again, and again, I am reminded about the ordinariness of this life of mine. Yes, I get my differences, and yes, I honour my differences, and yes, I wouldn't want to be any other way than the way I am.
Those things make me different.
It doesn't make my life different.
I experience the world differently than others.
That difference doesn't mean what people think it means.
I just do the same. Differently.
I love our life together. I love our routines. I love the fact that we've made the same joke for over 40 years and we still find it funny. I love the fact that we can be quiet together - but often aren't. I love the fact that our lives have evolved into parallel paths. I love the fact that two oldish men can stroll home, on a cool evening in Niagara Falls - after 44 years together - and still be on our honeymoon.