Many years ago, I read an article with an elaborate title.
"Giving Up Your Husband for the Man You Married."
It landed at a time in my marriage when there were gaps between the illusions I had held on to as a young girl and the reality of sharing a life with a flawed human. Our routine was less dreamy than dreary, with more
repetition than rapture.
The writer introduced the concept of letting go of that expectation, which it turned out was getting in the way of appreciating the man on the other side of the dinner table. The one reminding our kids not to kick each other. The one whose paycheck bought the spaghetti.
The book Fanny's Dream reminds me of that time in my life. Fanny had star sprinkled notions of what her groom would be like, which got in
the way when Hubert showed up. It took time for her to recognize not only what she could bring to a partnership, but what he could. Visions of frilly dresses at a ball distracted her from the actual satisfaction of hard work with someone who will work with you.
Looking back on four decades with John I remember the fancy dinners when we dressed up. They were elegant. But even more I cherish the times we managed six kids, a moving van and an uncertain future. More
than the roses, and there were some, I remember the stacks of dishes after we opened our home to beloved friends who floated out the door with full bellies. We both rolled up our sleeves.