It’s good to have a passion and, in a marriage, it’s no bad thing to have passions outwith or beyond the relationship.
Ok, that’s got your attention. I am not, however, about to discuss the merits of open marriage or a hitherto unheralded involvement in “swinging”.
I mean hobbies. Interests. Passions.
Mine is singing, which I may have mentioned before. With Mrs WeeKeef it is gardening.
She loves it. It is her passion and what brought her to Edinburgh in the first place (a BSc in Botany). Not content with her own little garden, which frequently stops passers-by in their tracks, she has also recently taken on an allotment and we are looking forward to a fine first harvest in the coming months. She loves weeding and pottering about generally, hates slugs and (grey) squirrels specifically and has a head full of plots and plans.
This weekend we have driven 120 miles to see a nursery garden she has wanted to peruse for the past couple of years. She is wandering up and down the lanes picking out new specimens for her own planting and smiling from ear to ear with the sheer joy of it.
And I just don’t get it. Quite apart from the whole lack of interest in the outdoors generally, and the hay fever, I have never got the gardening bug at all. Most of it seems to be about bits of green stuff sticking out of the ground, perhaps with a bit of coloured stuff on top. I don’t even like sitting out in a garden that much, though I don’t mind looking at a pretty one through a window for a few minutes.
So I am currently sitting on a rather uncomfortable bench, wishing I had my headphones so I could listen to some Brahms, and watching Mrs WK have a thoroughly splendid time.
And that’s fine. I love that smile. And in a bit we will load her purchases into the car and head for a nice hotel which promises fluffy bathrobes, a fine dinner and a comfy bed. These are things we are both passionate about.
We’ve booked the Garden Room.