A Rolling Stone

I was previewing my post and re-noticed the mossy stones on the blog header.  Reminds me of another example of the miracle that is my lasting marriage to Mr Wonderful.  You see, Mr Wonderful and I have never spoken the same language, although we both grew up with English-speaking parents on the East Coast of the good ol’ US of A.

Take the expression, “A rolling stone gathers no moss”.  In my family, it’s a benediction.  Moss is indicative of sloth, corruption, decay.  So, staying energetic, the Puritan work ethic, etc., make that saying a compliment.

In Mr Wonderful’s family, holding onto land is the only sure way to move up economically.  You may remember that Mr Wonderful’s granddad abandoned his family, and Mr Wonderful’s dad, growing up a bit wild in Horse Country, took to the racehorse circuit as a jockey at the tender age of 15. 

Having the tenacity and dedication to grow anything green over even a single season, then, is admirable in Mr Wonderful’s eyes.  The longer you stay in one location (preferably buying some land, but at least establishing a reputation over the course of years), the wiser you prove yourself to be.  Calling someone a “rolling stone” was a warning about their character.

Sigh.  All the months Mr W and I dated, all the talking and listening we did, did we uncover any of the dozens of language gaps?  Nope.  Would it have mattered if we did?  Probably not.  When we uncover another language gap tomorrow, should I throw up my hands and say, “It was a mistake ever to have married you?”  Nope.

Just keep working at communication.  Keep putting kinetic energy into the marriage, and it won’t stagnate to an odious end.  A rolling stone gathers no moss, y’know.