We trade places in the roles we take on in the course of our daily lives as partners in life and business. We trust one another…feel safe in the shifting of our respective positions.

I’ve come to realize in my relationship with Dagma that we not only benefit from being able and willing to understand and be sensitive to the feelings, thoughts and experience of the other, but also through the practice of seeing the truth of ourselves through the eyes of the other.

I often see the truth of me through Dagma’s eyes. So, what do I mean by this? As I’ve gotten ‘older and wiser’ I’ve learned to pay attention to such an extent that I can see in her face, even before I say something stupid, a response that offers me the opportunity to stop and rescue myself before speaking.

Her wisdom expressed in a glance, words or humor has proven that she has my back and our wellbeing at heart. I’ve even come to trust her perspective, many times, more than my own. But sometimes seeing the truth of me is not a pill so easily swallowed.

But swallow I do.

Not too long ago, at the end of a day of relaxing together on vacation, I asked her something we’ve since made a practice, “Is there something I could change in me that would make your life easier…more enjoyable.”

We were comfortable in bed facing one another––propped up in down pillows. I was feeling full of myself… fully in service. I responded to the ‘pearl’ she handed me with, “Hmmm, I don’t see that I do this but, yes, I can, and will, make this change.” And then she said, “Would you like to hear more?” I wasn’t prepared for that.

After another two ‘pearls’ were delivered, I let go of my defensive posturing and asked, “Am I going to need a pad and pen to continue?” And we roared with laughter.

Time well spent, because I listened, and mostly because I responded with, “Yes.” And if I make a promise it is rock-solid worthy.

Oh, did I mention that my middle name is YES?

Another time I’ll share the incidents that followed the four times I said, “NO.”

Summer season is upon us. A few weeks ago, Dagma and I planted our thousands of tomato seedlings into rich, certified-organic soil.

Brought to the forefront is, “Who of us the bee, and who the flower,” with continued role changes appropriate for this year of 2021. As my medical challenges have increased the past few months with cancer treatments and the return of spinal fluid leaks, it has been necessary to hand off to Dagma many of my former physical duties. Just managing pain and inconveniences impacts my daily time schedule and priorities. (I’ll write separately, in another story, of how I manage physical pain, what I learn from this experience, and how I remain an active partner in the wonderful life we share.) I am fortunate to have good medical care (my fifth year benefiting from the neurologists at Stanford) and I’m taking more active responsibility toward optimum health with dietary changes (see: The Longevity Paradox, By Dr. Steven Gundry). And following a year of having no outside exercise program at the gym, due to COVID 19, I’ve taken a new exercise program at home to rebuild muscle mass for increased stability, hugability and my overall well-being.

That said, yes, more role changes for Dagma and me, and changes to my daily schedule which includes more of the household duties, most of the grocery shopping and cooking (I just finished making a gallon of enriched and spectacular Pea Soup), care of our pets (the chickens), more writing for this website, painting again after a forty-year absence, taking short periods of rest during the day, and general planning of our entertainment. Dagma has taken on more of the garden duties that I used to do: moving compost, soil, equipment, pruning trees, business accounting and moving garden hoses (Note: We water all our trees, flowers and foods on our small acreage with hand watering by hose. For those who don’t know, a one-hundred-foot garden hose filled with water can be a weighty maneuver.)

She does all this and takes three video classes a day for options trading. She manages most of our phone communications, birthday calendars and gifts for our eight children and nine grandchildren, still does all of our laundry, not because I’m not capable and willing, but she has asked me not to do this unless she is out of town leaving me to tend with the possibility of ruining my own clothes (that are pretty much indestructible, i.e., jeans and twenty-year-old plaid flannel shirts). Our roles are flexible and always changing. And since I have been on hormonal therapy for the cancer, flooding my system with estrogen, I have come to be who I kiddingly refer to as one of Dagma’s “sisters”, which comes with additional challenges as well as benefits, one of which is that I‘m more inclined to trust the feminine side of me for making wise and compassionate, versus impulsive, choices, and find myself even less inclined to have my choices influenced by my ego (which apparently remains in good health). Now, on our Sundays set aside for being lovers and cooking together for three-hour, candlelit dinners and dancing in the kitchen, I find myself more accepting than I used to be when she wants to lead; the reason we are no longer dancing the tango together. We laugh. Sometimes, uncontrollably. We still bring each other flowers...daily.

Last week, I told Dagma I’d be making chicken. I let her know I’d show up for dinner dressed in something other than my jeans and favorite gardening shirt and vest that she’s been asking me to throw away for months due to years of wear-and-tear and unsightly holes in the fabric. (“Please don’t wear that in public.”)

After soothing my body pains in the hot tub, I dressed casual; put on a Hawaiian shirt, my red tomato tie and comfy robe, and showed up with one of our favorite chickens under arm (to add humor to my outfit), a Mandarin orange, a bottle of wine tucked under the arm, and a paperback of Rumi love poems to read to her. What’s not to love? We have a history of spontaneously dressing up (or down) for dinner. And yes, I returned the chicken to the hen house before dinner.

We are about to take our annual vacation to a cabin in the woods hanging over the McKenzie River in Oregon where we will sequester ourselves, again, for non-stop relaxing away from home/business responsibilities. We will enjoy time to read our respective books, to write, to dine on the foods I will have created for our vacation menu and, again, to sit with one another sipping on a fine wine, to check in for some intimate communication refreshment. I’ll ask her, “Ok, how’s it going for you? What can I do to be in better service to your needs”? (I’ll bring my yellow pad to make notes knowing I depend upon ongoing course corrections to keep her healthy and our partnership vital.)