Elizabeth Says Yes to Tony
A few months ago, a friend asked me “Why did you fall in love with Tony?” She did not mean it to sound incredulous - as in, what is it that you see in him, anyway? - but as a genuine question born of curiosity. She wanted to know what it was that first set my heart a-flutter and then enticed me to stay. She was looking for the recipe called Elizabeth Says Yes to Tony.
It is an interesting question to stop and consider what it is that makes us love and commit to another person. There are the obvious reasons, of course; the first layer of fruit with those shiny, red apples that you can easily see from the trailside. Tony is wickedly smart and endlessly handsome – of course he caught my attention. So I stepped off the trail and took a bite. Yep, delicious.
But once you’ve harvested the first layer of fruit, you’ve got to dig a little deeper, right? There may be another layer of hidden apples in there, still waiting for their turn in the sunlight. So I grabbed my foot stool, pulled back some of the outer branches and peered in. Yes – many more apples, only these with a bit more complexity. Here hung a thoughtful apple, a playful apple, a creative apple (have you me the carpenter yet?). And then one of my favorites – an apple I’ll call Easy Versatility. When I envision a day in the life of Tony, this is what I see: a man who works with dogged determination for hours at a time, whistling along with his woodchipped hands and dirty jeans and then, come evening time, pivots with ease into dynamic conversation and nuanced thinking. All while pouring a damn good bottle of wine and serving up the perfect steak. Tony works hard, he thinks carefully and then he sets his sights on what can be so elusive: finding joy and moments of ease in our home and in our creature comforts.
So, remember, I’m still up in the apple tree, only now I’ve abandoned the foot stool for the harvesting ladder. I’m seven feet off the ground, leaning precariously into the depths of the tree, and I’ve hoisted along with me a canvas sack that I have slung from one shoulder. These higher elevation apples are just as good as those closer to orchard level and I drop them all into my bag. Compassionate apples, reasonable apples, smartass apples. Occasionally, I find an apple with a bruise or a mushy spot – the impatience apple, the distracted apple, the need to go dark for a spell apple, the Elizabeth has asked me the same question too many times apple. I hesitate over these ones. Should I put them in my bag? Are they going to taste good in the pie? Perhaps these are more suitable for canning.
But then I spy an apple that looks so crisp, so golden. It’s just out of my reach so I climb up onto the very last rung of the ladder and stretch up on my tippy-toes. I can just grasp it with my fingertips. I twist it slightly – biting my tongue lest it fall to the ground - and finally it breaks free at the stem and drops safely into my hand. I turn it over, inspecting all sides. This is the Willing apple: the apple that reflects about lessons learned, the apple that sits down at the table to gently pick through a difficult conversation, the apple that understands the value of time and space and mutual growth within the loving context of a relationship. It’s the Prize apple.
I slip my Prize apple into the bag, step down one rung and then confidently gather up all those other apples that previously had me hesitating – the worm bitten apple, the frost bitten apple, even the Elizabeth has asked me the same question too many times and now I’ve gotta go shake off my frustration apple. They are all worth it, every single one of them.
So how do you like them apples? my friend may ask me. Well, I like them very much. In fact, I think I’ll take the whole darn bushel.