One of the joys of my marriage is that Bill and I both like to read, and occasionally to each other. He’ll share a particularly moving passage; I’ll share a turn of phrase that delights. A few days ago he read something that got under my skin, that maybe even changed my life.
He was reading The Ship by C.S. Forester, a beautiful, thick-paged old book published in 1943. Forester wrote the Hornblower series, among other works. Here’s the passage that affected me:
The Captain experienced a feeling of elation…He was a man who was profoundly interested in the art of living. Rembrandt gave him pleasure, and so did the Fifth Symphony; so did bouillabaisse at Marseilles or Southern cooking at New Orleans or a properly served Yorkshire pudding in the North of England; so did a pretty girl or an elegant woman; so did a successful winning hazard from a difficult position at billiards, or a Vienna Coup at bridge; and so did success in battle. These were the things that gilded the bitter pill of life which everyone had to swallow. They were as important as life and death; not because they were very important, but because life and death were not very important.
How profoundly these words affect me! In them I feel the comfort of knowing that life’s difficulties aren’t unique to me. I also understand that there’s a way to build resilience to the bitter pill(s) all of us will eventually be compelled to swallow. It is this: whenever possible we should be fully present, absorbing every sweet morsel of life that’s available to us, storing it in our memories for the hard times.
As Bill and I discussed the passage, he told me that during a recent family blowup – I told you we’re brawlers, apparently. Lately it seems that way – he would have trouble falling asleep. At those times he’d call up the sweet memories of holding our 10-month-old grandson. The two of them have such a bond; after a nap, and after finishing his sippy cup of formula, Andrew will snuggle with Grandpa in the recliner. He’ll examine his toys and talk in his happy, wordless way, occasionally arching back to grab Bill’s nose or hang upside down, studying the world from that perspective before wriggling around to be set on the floor.
I get happy just thinking of that.
Right now, I’m sitting in a quiet hideaway – a part of the cruise ship where we’re spending our spring break before returning to our babysitting duties. The hideaway is silent, thanks to my resourceful sweetheart who found the audio controls and cut the disco music to this cocktail lounge that is deserted at eight in the morning.
Bill sits twenty feet away from me, reading. I see him framed against the sea, and feel almost teary with gratitude that we are still healthy and able, and that we enjoy each other’s company. He makes me laugh; earlier we were considering the size of a new ship. “It’d have to be big,” Bill said. “You figure, four thousand passengers at five hundred pounds each…”
I’m also feeling a bit more understanding about those who seek the finer things in life, not purely for consumption’s sake, or the drive for status, but as a pleasant positive to offset the inevitable negative.
Whatever we have can be taken away. Better to lay in supplies for that cold inevitability. A better argument for mindfulness, I haven’t found.
After I initially left a comment I seem to have clicked on the
-Notify me when new comments are added- checkbox and now each time a comment is added I recieve four emails with the exact same comment.
Perhaps there is an easy method you can remove me from that service?
Thank you!
Yikes, Mariel! I’ll see what I can do. Sorry about that.
Mariel, I can’t find any place that you left a comment, so I’m stymied. All I can suggest is that you mark them as spam and hope your email service learns to stop bothering you. Best wishes.
Lynne, it’s been too long since I visited your blog! I’ve had my nose to the book deadline grindstone and have not been very active online. Like so many others, I loved this post. I wonder how you interpret the last line of the quote “because life and death were not very important”? I suppose that’s the ultimate in detachment. Does it help us live more mindfully to think our lives are of little importance?
I so identified with your sense of gratitude for your husband and your love of his love of your grandson. At our household, we go around quoting whatever sweet thing our two-year-old grandson has said on video the past week. It binds us together in a deep way.
Shirley! Welcome back! I admire your ability to stay away from the online timesuck and work on your book. I was lucky enough to be on a cruise over the past two weeks, one with a lot of sea days. Almost every morning at around 8 I’d tell Bill, “See you for lunch,” and I’d go up to the nightclub to work. In the daytime, the club is a quiet place, and I’d plug in my laptop and work for hours, and as much as an hour at a time without having to talk to anyone or being distracted in any serious way. It was amazing! I am going to try to replicate that when my babysitting stint ends in June.
But to answer your question, here’s how I took that last line: I think he meant that this necessity to appreciate the little things in life is no less important than life and death; i.e. that he was being ironic in saying life and death aren’t important.
Best wishes with your writing. Let us know when your book is ready to peruse.
Lynne,
I believe this is my favorite post of yours that I have read. My husband and I read to one another also, and sharing these little morsels of prose and human philosophies are so enriching. I loved the quote your husband read you and it is similar to how i view life — it is the little things like the loveliness of fresh flowers, a delicious salad, the sun on one’s back after a chilly winter, a soft pair of shoes, a loving grandchild or two — that are the blessings in life.
Thank you for sharing.
Heather, thanks for your kind words. I’ve been hearing from friends who say they and their sweethearts read to each other, and I love that!
Re Bill, he used to be a sales manager at a car dealership, and most of his sales team could be seen, during the slow periods, with their noses in books. One day I was in Bill’s office, and a salesman poked his head in. “Any new books, boss?” because they were used to getting his books when he finished them. It cracked me up because it doesn’t fit the stereotype of car salesmen. I took to calling him “The Librarian.”
Thanks Lynne for that great reminder of what is truly important, not life or death, but the things and people that touch our hearts…
And thanks for commenting, Patricia. Happy Easter.
What a profound post, Lynne. So simple, yet so hard to remember when shit happens. Loved the picture you paint of Bill bonding with your grandson as he draws peace and strength in the moment for the inevitable storms that lie ahead.
Thanks, Pat. You must have your own strategies. They’re usually formed by hardship, to which you’re no stranger! Yes, the babies comfort us. A continuing ray of light. Happy Easter, my friend.
A particularly poignant post, Lynne. After losing my mother in January, all those precious moments come back in my memory, all I have of her now.
Christine, I am so sorry for your loss. Having lost Dad 4 years ago, I know the immediacy of the pain softens, but sometimes it pops up and it’s almost unbearable. How to explain it; what to tell ourselves? Only that you are not alone and we have all gone through it. Right after I lost Dad, Kathy Pooler (above) lost her daddy. We at least were able to comfort each other. I feel for you. Try to savor what you can. XOXO.
Actually I lost both of my parents in January. Dad died two weeks after Mom. Thanks for your support. It helps to know that the pain lessens and that the waves of grief are to be expected.
Both! Oh, my goodness. I am doubly sorry. Do you need another sister? I’m available. At least they are together; or at least they’re not apart. Thinking of you.
This is beautiful, Lynne. I have nothing to add except Amen and thank your for the lovely reminder to enjoy the moments while we can.
Good to hear from you, Kathy. I hope all is well with you.
Lynne, What a lovely, contemplative, and inspiring piece! You speak of gratitude, and that’s what I felt when I read this. Thank you for reminding us of life’s delicate balance(s).
Thanks, Sienna. How nice of you to say so. It is delicate, fragile enough to change in a heartbeat, so our only defense is to enjoy what we have when we have it. Good of you to stop by.
Even though I enjoyed today’s post (or maybe BECAUSE I enjoyed today’s post), I’m asking myself why I’m sitting here at my computer when the sun’s shining! Thanks for the reminder to grab life’s joys. I’m outta here.
Sandy, I know you’re not there – good for you! But thanks for writing. See ya around campus.
Sharing a love for reading is so delicious. My husband The Engineer and I do that. One of us will read a passage aloud, and sometimes the other will say “I want to read that book when you’re done.” And it works with other activities too. I introduced him to Toastmasters and to bird-watching. He introduced me to gliders.
That’s music to my ears, Madeleine. What sweetness.
Lovely post and important reminder. I will keep that excerpt. It is by far the best celebration of the simple joys of wine, women, and song that I have ever read. Thank you.
Isn’t it, though? And to think it was written almost seventy years ago. Nothing changes. We all need support and encouragement. Life is tough, except sometimes it’s beautiful. Got to savor it. Good to hear from you, Susan.
I ADORE this post! thanks so much!
Thanks for saying so, Mary. Hope you’ll stop by again. We try to do this every Friday.
Some days I just lose my way…and this arrived on a day when I needed the reminder. Now I am going to go outside and check out the wisteria…every day more flowers bloom.
Thanks, Lynn.
We all do, some days, Debra. Glad that serendipity was at work on the day it happened to you. Best wishes.
Ooops – I meant that Bill found a quiet spot on a cruise ship – that’s a treasure.
Barbara, I read you comment to mean how lucky that I found Bill. Which is true.
What a sweet post and reminder of the sweet things in life….it IS wise to store them up for dark, troubled times. Love that passage. And am impressed that you found, or that your Bill found one – that’s love.
Lynne: love the imagery of companionship between life’s pleasures and life’s challenges. If we look we’ll always find the balance between joy and difficulty: the real art is recognizing them when they come. And I agree with Bill….the ship should be bigger LOL
Shawn, didn’t that crack you up? I burst out laughing for days afterward every time I’d remember that comment. And he said it so deadpan.
Beautiful, Lynne. I loved the Hornblower series, and that passage really resonates.
Karen
Especially the last sentence, Karen, right? What powerful writing.
Very nice, Lynne. Thanks for sharing. 🙂
My pleasure, Vonnie. Hope you are well and loving life in Florida.
Thank you — I needed that.
Puts things in perspective, doesn’t it, Donna?
One of the loveliest posts I have ever read!
What a kind thing to say, Mimi. Thank you.
Lynne your posts really speak to me. Life is not alway fair and as my son says “shit happens” and you deal with it and do the best you can.
Patricia, your son is right. The trick is to keep putting one foot in front of the other and remembering that sometimes it’s okay to smile and laugh! Thanks for coming by.