Friday, November 22, 2024

Love Story Series

 Cynthia Anderson and Bill Dahl
 
 

The Love of My Life

By Cynthia Anderson

all-white outfit
cobbled from her closet—
second wedding

 I met my second husband, Bill Dahl, at an art gallery party in December 1996. We had our first date a week later, moved in together a year later, were married on August 4, 2008 and have been together ever since.This poem, “No Ordinary Love,” sums up some of the more delicious aspects of our relationship.

 No Ordinary Love

After half a lifetime fresh out of luck,
I met a man with a cabinet of spices—
someone who could chop the trifecta
of onions, ginger, and garlic to perfection.
I couldn’t believe my good fortune,
the aromas wafting from the kitchen,
the joy of cooking together, discovering
flavors that are still our favorites—
the cumin and cloves in picadillo,
the dill in pistachio pistou over salmon,
the dash of Hatch in chili blanco—
and oh the phases we’ve been through,
the rubs, the rouilles, the charmoulas!
Nearly three decades on, our tastes
are simpler, fed by the garden—
oregano and thyme for roast chicken,
sage for pot pie, basil for pesto—
and, always on the table, garam masala
for Indian fare, next to peppercorns
and Celtic sea salt to bring out
the best in every meal.

Over the years, we’ve had many adventures. Here are two of them: riding horses in Mexico and taking a Jeep tour of the San Andreas Fault.

 

 

 

Bill’s totem animal is the great blue heron, so I’m including a poem about a heron—which is really about Bill.

                                                       

                        The Lone Hunter

                                        He comes to the desert for water—
                                        maps every oasis, pond, and marsh

                                     in his memory, goes back to those places
                                         reliably, though to sight him is rare.

                                               Solitary, tall in the shallows,
                                    he’s a tower of slow-striding, slate-blue

                                        stillness, until his sharp beak spears
                                    downward. He’s my good omen, my dose

                                        of heron medicine, one I could watch
                                            a long time—the rest of my life—

                                                with ease. When he’s here,
                                           I breathe more deeply, find balance

                                                while he sleeps on one leg,
                                           hum when he spreads his great wings.

                                                This sun and sky only hold him
                                                    briefly—so I thank the luck

                                                       that brings him to me.

 

 Our home in the Mojave Desert is located on 2.5 secluded acres. We love watching the wildlife come by, especially in spring during mating season.

 

Mating Season

These days,
I can’t always see what I hear—
a roadrunner out front, then out back,
baying for a mate like a lonely dog—
all that commotion, yet my weak eyes
can’t track his sprint through the rocks.
Or, when my ears ring with bell-like calls
bouncing uphill, deep as an owl’s hoot—
I search and search before I finally spot
a quail and his intended under a juniper.
The doves I can’t miss, fluttering all over
themselves to their nest in the eaves—
a site too exposed, every year a failure,
yet the next season some try again.
It’s the again that grabs me—
the new wave of bodies doing
what they must, because they can—
while indoors, the old and long married
still dream, still spoon when sun
strikes the bed in mid-afternoon.
 

Here we are on a trip back to Santa Barbara, our home for decades. This was taken at Shoreline Park, our old stomping ground, where we enjoyed countless walks with our dog, Rainy Bear.

Becoming Old People

It starts with a long winter
and a thermostat that’s never
set high enough. We aren’t
our parents yet, who cranked
the heat up to 80—we wear
layers of wool indoors instead.
Crossword puzzles are getting
harder—too many clues about
popular culture. An outing
to the store or the doctor takes
all the energy we can muster,
and a day to recover. Soon,
we’ll be the couple who drives
to the park and sits in the car,
content to rest on heated seats
and watch the light in the trees.
To the world, we’re the ones
young people open doors for.
To ourselves, we’re the same
as we ever were—still in love,
still laughing.

Cynthia and Bill in Joshua Tree National Park

 

Cynthia Anderson and her husband, Bill Dahl, have collaborated on a dozen books of poetry and photographs. You can find all the links at www.cynthiaandersonpoet.com

Publishing Credits: “all-white outfit” is from Full Circle (Cholla Needles Press, 2021,) “No Ordinary Love” first appeared in Silver Birch Press’s Spices & Seasonings Series, “The Lone Hunter” is from Waking Life (Cholla Needles Press, 2017,) “Mating Season” is from Route (Cholla Needles Press, 2019) and “Becoming Old People” first appeared in Verse-Virtual.


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