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by Billie Barbara
"Write the intro to the book." says Ric.
"Shut up!" was my first reaction.
"Don't tell me what to do," still putting a father face on Ric and acting angry. I know now I do this to keep myself from doing things, even when it is something I want to do. The poems here are some of the feelings we've had while being together twenty-five years; the first twenty in a traditional marriage, the last five contracting annually.
I feel excited writing this. Maybe the age has come when there is no elite, but many interested people sharing their stories--religion--the word made flesh. When experiences are put into symbols, language, shared not as right or wrong, the law, but ideas to spark others into creative fire, we wake up to our own power, creativity, and unique possibilities.
A classic couple, that's how I thought of us then, married during the fifties, trying to become mystically one person. I stayed in the house cleaning, learning to do wifery and mothering. Ric pursued his career as a song writer at night, making our living as a pressman in a small job shop by day while he learned to do husbandry and fathering. Impossible? I didn't think so, I just felt disappointed when he couldn't do them all equally well.
The excitement began to give way to boredom and routine. I felt at times utterly helpless, hopelessly dependent, not aware that I kept putting Ric into the father position. That's the way it was, is, and shall always be. You have to suffer in this life. As a child you obey your father and mother. As a wife you must obey your husband even if he doesn't want to be obeyed.
After twenty years of the above, we found ourselves in a dead relationship, like the couple in the song Ric wrote, entitled Robert and Nancy. He changed the names to protect the innocent.
Robert....
Buried in the tribune with his coffee.
Reading all about the day before.
Nancy....
Just across the table with her teacup.
Studies what the tea leaves hold in store.
And the now,
The moment slips away.
Gone with its joy and sorrow.
He was here yesterday
And she is coming tomorrow.
Robert....
Pictured in the yearbook--Mr. Football.
Living in the dear departed past.
Nancy....
Is prophetic--she's a Pisces.
Busy with the yarrow stalks she cast.
And the now,
The moment slips away.
Gone with its joy and sorrow.
He was here yesterday
And she is coming tomorrow.
Robert....
Has a photograph of Nancy in his office.
Taken on the day that they were wed.
Nancy....
Goes to see a gypsy fortune teller.
Wants to know what's lying up ahead.
And the now,
The moment slips away.
Gone with its joy and sorrow.
He was here yesterday
And she is coming tomorrow.
Robert....
Puts away his toothbrush by the mirror.
Takes a look and sees his hair is gray.
Nancy....
Went to sleep in silence--what a pity.
They never really lived at all did they?
They let the now,
The moment slip away.
Gone are the joys and sorrow.
But he was here yesterday
And she was coming tomorrow.
We live together this way.
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