One girl, one boy

December 10, 2010

Yesterday morning was not a pretty time around our household. This has been a really stressful week for both Jeremy and me. I won't bore you with the mundane details of the pile of stressors that have fallen upon us, but suffice it to say, we we were both at our respective tipping points. The discovery of the breakdown of the washing machine first thing in the morning was what pushed us over the edge and a loud argument ensued. No wait, it was actually this sentence: "Could you call a repairman?" that did it. For my part, if I remember correctly, there was slamming of a couple of doors, tossing my work bag aggressively into the car, and a few curse words uttered outside of Jeremy's earshot. But my memory is a little foggy about it all (conveniently).

On my drive to work I was able to come down from my adrenaline pumping and see what was going on between us. I shot off an e-mail to him when I got to my desk: "I'm sorry I got so upset and stormed around the house this morning. I think we're both really stressed out and trying to prove to each other that we're each more stressed than the other. We haven't been focusing on Team Cashman." I gave him a couple numbers for repair men as an olive branch. We talked later that day and he apologized for his part as well.

Then last night was The Great Cover Up, for which Jeremy performed Dean Martin cover songs at the Rialto Theater with a bunch of other local artists who covered other bands. The whole thing was a benefit for medical expenses for uninsured musicians and artists in Tucson. He was performing earlier in the evening, but still past my normal bedtime. I knew he wanted me to be there, and I really wanted to be there to see him perform. It was one of those things where, yeah, getting a good night's rest for me is incredibly important right now for my health, but doing something for my spouse and that makes me so proud of him is also important for my overall satisfaction of life. So I went.

This is where I'm going to gush about him. The guys in the band all looked and sounded so sharp. Jeremy had shaved and was dressing Dean-like for the gig. They were just a class act up on stage. And then he started singing, and I couldn't help but smile a big, proud smile. What a great crooner voice! I loved it. The band sounded amazing. And then he sang one of my favorites: Memories are made of this. I get choked up if I don't just outright cry every time I hear the line "One girl, one boy, some grief, some joy, memories are made of this." The same was true last night. And I thought that would be the extent of my emotional response, but no. The best was yet to come.

It probably went un-noticed by everyone there but me, but before he began singing another song he said, "This one is for my wife, who is here tonight." And then the music began, and my heart started beating quickly. And then he sang:

Watch the sunrise on a tropic isle
See the pyramids along the Nile
Just remember darlin', all the while
You belong to me

See the market place in old Algiers
Send me photographs and souvenirs
Just remember when a dream appears
You belong to me

I'll be so alone without you
Maybe you'll be lonesome too and blue

Fly the ocean in a silver plane
See the jungle when it's wet with rain
Just remember til you're home again
You belong to me

Fly the ocean in a silver plane
See the jungle when it's wet with rain
Just remember til you're home again
You belong to me

I kid you not, as I stood there swaying back and forth to the gentle melody, my legs were quivering. It was such a declaration of love. A public declaration of love. And I'll tell you what, there ain't much more romantic to me than that, especially coming from such a private man. I might even go so far as to say I swooned a little (smile).

But there was more behind that song for me than the public declaration of love too. He and I had talked about that song, how it was one he played on his acoustic guitar for me in our backyard as we sat out there with a fire in our chiminea one morning shortly after I had gotten out of the hospital and was recovering. The line "just remember till you're home again, you belong to me," was the kicker. He played lots of songs for me when I was in the hospital about being home again. The man knows what gets me. He knows what speaks to me.

One girl, one boy, some grief, some joy: Memories are made of this.