An Ordinary Sunday, Yet Not Quite

 ome Sundays pass quietly, almost unnoticed. Yet sometimes, beneath their ordinary surface, they hold memories, gratitude, and the quiet weight of years shared together.

 

A peaceful day.

These are the kinds of days I should value most and feel grateful for, yet I let it pass somewhat aimlessly, and when it was over, I felt I had wasted something precious.

At Tsurugaoka Hachimangū, yabusame horseback archery was being held.

But now that we have Anne, I cannot easily go off to watch such things whenever I please.

This morning, I thought I might at least watch the practice, so I went there, but perhaps it had already been canceled, for there were neither people nor horses.

After walking for about an hour, I had brunch with my wife. We shared a striped Atka mackerel that we had bought in Sapporo.

Today is the anniversary of our marriage registration, marking thirty-five years since my wife changed her surname.

There is much debate about allowing married couples to keep separate surnames. It seems to me that an optional system would be enough. Those who wish to do so should be free to choose it, and those who do not should be free not to.

Why is something so simple so difficult to achieve?

 

Come to think of it, the day we registered our marriage was also a Sunday, though unlike today, it was pouring rain.

That evening, when we went to the city office in Musashino, where we were living at the time, to submit our marriage papers, an older staff member who was apparently on duty congratulated us. I can still remember his voice.

We received a congratulatory phone call from our daughter, who is now working alone in New York City.

When I think that I have lived with my wife longer than the years it took for our son and daughter to grow into the fine adults they are today, thirty-five years feels like a remarkably long span of time.

An ordinary Sunday, perhaps—but for the two of us, not an ordinary Sunday at all.

 

What looked like an ordinary Sunday was, for us, a day quietly illuminated by thirty-five years of life together.