“I love to sniff roses.”

That‘s the thought-provoking statement I woke up to this morning.

When Sprite and I talk to each other there is often music behind the words, allusions that deepen the meaning.

“Say more,” I said.

“I love the fragrance of roses. I like to smell them as often as I can,” said Sprite.  “It’s part of living a full life every day.”

I kissed her, and then she continued.

“When my daughter was young I hugged and kissed her as much as I could.  I wanted to squeeze as much as possible into every day.  And I did.  I left my job to be with her. I wanted to fall asleep every night knowing that I did the most I possibly could to live a full life every day and that if I died or if she died I had given everything I could to her and to my day.”

Here’s a little background about Sprite.  For twenty-five years she was a journalist, either a reporter in the field or a local or network television anchor.  Virtually every day at work she dealt with stories about death.  Her first day on the job in a large Midwestern city she reported eight deaths.  Over her entire career there were tens of thousands, far more deaths than most of us are exposed to during a lifetime.  This experience helped Sprite to appreciate every day more than most of us and to understand that life can change in an instant.

We all tend to avoid thoughts we find disturbing.  I, for example, don’t like conflicts.  When I receive an email that might be a complaint I hesitate to even open it.  This is a big reason why I prefer to connect through texts or emails rather than on the telephone.  It is easier for me to avoid conflict.

Many people fear death and simply don’t want to think or talk about it.

I have good news, though it is easier to write about than to act on.  I’ve learned that when I deal with potential conflict immediately, when I answer that email or pick up the phone, the conflict I fear tends to disappear rather than magnify even though, as I said, this is easier for me to write about than to act on.

But when you know that you and your loved ones will someday die, rather than avoiding any thought of death you can choose to be more like Sprite, who expresses her joy in life, and her love, as much as she possibly can.

Back to this morning.

“And the same goes for you,” she said.  “I hug and kiss you as much as I can.  I don’t want to leave anything on the table.  Life is both precious and precarious, and I want to fall asleep tonight knowing I have been as close to you today as I possibly can be.”

I smiled.  What a lovely way to begin a day.  And a marriage.

Alan

Our wedding celebration is four weeks in the rearview mirror, our honeymoon slipped into the scrapbook of precious memories, and now I’m at my desk wondering if I can write something worth your reading.

A friend asked us at dinner last night how it felt to be back.  I wasn’t sure how to answer that question.  When in doubt, tell it like it is.  I said, “Mixed.”

It took me ten days of being away to fully relax, so I’m glad we were gone for a total of twenty-five days.  But it took me just one hour in my home office to start worrying again.  What did I worry about?

1. Did my staff get along without me?
2. They seemed to get along fine without me. (How could they?)
3. Did anyone quit, in the absence of my magnetic personality?   Hmmm.
4. Four hundred new emails in my inbox. That will keep me busy for at least a week.
5. How is cash flow? (Once a CPA always a CPA.)  It’s fine.  Whew!
6. Etc. etc. etc.

Sprite and I spent the last day of our honeymoon in Hawaii.  I could tell I was completely relaxed by then because I drove our rental car below the speed limit, lingered for hours over lunch, and I wasn’t even troubled by the usual crush of alarming news about the state of the world or my thoughts of potential calamities which would face me back at the office.

But now we’re back. I’m in my home office.

And Sprite just appeared in rather fetching attire.

So, like any smart husband, I’m leaving my office for a honeymoon encore.

Talk to you next week.

Alan

See me in the photo?  Perhaps you need a hint?  There’s the captain of the raft.  She’s wearing the blue helmet, paddle in hand.  And there’s Sprite, yellow helmet on the right.  Smiling.

Me?  I’m trapped beneath a red helmet, front left.  Most of me is under water.  I’m not smiling.  I’m freezing.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.  After all, we were in Queenstown, New Zealand, home of outdoor adventure.  And even on a honeymoon those warm comfy hotel rooms with stunning lake views can become so tedious.

We called “Scary White Water Rafters” to arrange an outdoor excursion for my 77^th birthday.

When we arrived at the “Scary” office we were told that the river trip we planned to take was cancelled.  But we could transfer to the “more challenging” river trip.

“Sure,” I said.  Because that’s what a real man does, right?
I had been white water rafting years before, and assured Sprite that it would be perfectly safe and fun.  She looked at me sideways as she read the brochure description:  “Begin with an unforgettable bus trip into Skippers Canyon, famous for its exciting cliff edges.”   Right.  We both love exciting cliff edges.  NOT.  Then, “The adrenaline pumps as you paddle Aftershock, Squeeze, Toilet, Pinball, Jaws, and Oh Sh*t, to name a few.”

The most dangerous white water rapids are rated 5 and 6.  These rapids were rated 4 and 5.  “Oh Sh*t” is right.  We left a perfectly pleasant hotel room at 7:30 am to risk both our comfort and our lives.

Yes, the cliff edges were exciting. For forty-five minutes our van careened down a gravel road with the driver gossiping all the way. I did not look out the window.   I smiled at Sprite to reassure her while our guide read excerpts from the release we had to sign.  Basically, if we froze, broke a leg, or died, “too bad and Happy Birthday!”

When we arrived at the Shotover River (Yup) we were led to dressing rooms where we discarded our warm, dry clothing for dripping wet suits, frigid rubber shoes, and rigid plastic helmets.

As we dragged our rafts into the surging water, Sally, our boatperson, plied us with instructions, spiced with scary stories about previous patrons who didn’t pay attention and ended up falling out of the raft and bouncing along the rocks.

I was handed a wooden paddle.  I had planned to sit in the middle of the raft next to Sprite, to keep her safe, but Sally assigned another man and me a job. We were to be “the motor” and sit in front, where it’s more dangerous.  The women sat behind us, Sally in the back.  “I’m the steering,” she said.

My boots soon filled with water.  When I broke my paddle on a rock Sally happily handed me a replacement. Drat!  My legs cramped.  In the middle of “Squeeze” my life jacket popped up around my neck and tried to strangle me.

And the photo?  That was at the very end of our out-of-room experience, after we bumped through a dark river tunnel blasted by gold miners a hundred years before.  Sally warned us, “At the end of this tunnel is “Oh Sh*t,” and when I say ‘DOWN’ go all the way down in the raft, FAST.  You will be underwater, but hopefully you won’t fall out of the raft.”

An hour later, back in our hotel room, Sprite beat me to the hot shower.  Later as we burrowed under our comforter we agreed that our white water rafting fling had been scary, but wonderful.

Next year on my birthday I think I’ll sign up for something more exciting, like wrestling a grizzly bear while sky diving.

Alan