In Carpenter Country, it’s that time of the year again—our wedding anniversary. It seems like only yesterday we stood in front of the Justice of the Peace, said, “I do,” and told everyone we were going to “live happily ever after.”
As we pulled away from City Hall at the end of the short service, which included “obey” and “’til death do us part”, my new husband braked the car. He’d forgotten to pay the JP. Amid a lot of laughter, we did a fast U-turn, settled the bill, and headed to a restaurant for lunch.
I can’t recall what was on the menu, but right after the meal we drove our best man and matron of honor home, and set off to tour the New England states.
We had two weeks before the guy that was sharing my space needed to report to Ft. Bragg for duty. We made the trip in one fantastic week, and spent the last seven days saying goodbye to family, friends, and each other.
Since then, it’s been sixty long years of us both ignoring the “obey” part, and doing okay with the “’til death” stuff. As for “happily ever after”—well, I’ve written a poem that might explain what’s going on with that.
Has it been that long
Since we said, “I do”
On an April morn?
In that time,
We’ve laughed and cried.
The road’s been bumpy,
But what a ride!
Would we do it again?
We’re not confiding.
We’re still deciding.