32 Years +
1986 Purgatory, Colorado |
We were married on the back patio of my house. With the hope of keeping it simple, my girlfriends Sally and Marjorie made much of the food. Grant cooked chicken Marsala, and, to my dismay, his mother Hazel laboriously peeled all the tomatoes for the salad. I don’t think she ever ate a tomato skin in her life. Our extravagance was a crazily expensive, absolutely delicious raspberry-filled wedding cake from By Word of Mouth, a little restaurant no longer around.
July 10, 1988 |
The Rev. Kit Howell performed the service with vows he’d browbeating us into writing, Larry Bensen played the piano, and brother-in-law Paul sang the Beatles In My Life. I wore a pink silk dress I’d made, and Grant was in white linen pants and guayabera, which I think he still has tucked back in his side of the closet.
Mary wore the dress I’d crocheted for her cousin Laura, and Stephanie was pretty in pink.
At first, it seemed like nothing had changed, except, as a wife, I was now on Grant’s health insurance. Over time, and through participating in our marriage enrichment group, our commitment has grown from “it’s good now, we’ll see” (and some days it wasn’t) to “through sickness and in health, till death do us part”.
2006 |
Thirty two years later, we cling to each other. Mostly it’s good, and the death till we part seems all too close in this pandemic. Growing old together has come much faster than we ever anticipated. But who knows, if we continue to be dealt great hands and play our cards right, we might see our golden anniversary. There better be presents. And cake.
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