Good Friday 40 Years Ago

Joining a community choir led me to meet Hubby who was the director.  I joined in October of 1972.  We danced around each other all fall and winter until it was Easter.  He had agreed to direct and sing for a local church and a bunch of us from the choir agreed to tag along with him, adding support to the music.

We rehearsed on the Wednesday evening before Easter.  Afterwards a bunch of us -- all women and hubby -- went downtown to the local Hilton by the Missouri River and had cocktails and danced.  Hubby only danced with me -- consequently I was the only woman dancing.  My friends were shocked. 

On Maundy Thursday he met me at my church for the communication service.  The church was aghast.  Afterwards we went out to dinner.  Then we came home and made out on my parents couch.  They were in Colorado, having left to spend six months in their summer home.  They would have been (and later were) horrified. 

Around midnight Hubby made his departure but wasn't gone more than an hour when he called me and said he wanted to come back and just cuddle and so he did and we did.  After sharing breakfast I said I'd cook him dinner that evening if he wanted to drop by.

Forty years later and he hasn't gone home yet.  Now that's the real shocker!

  

Epizoodie

We sound like frogs, we feel like crap, our throats are raw. I have no idea how to spell "epizoodie" -- but it's an old-fashioned word that means you have whatever current bug / cold is making the rounds. When I Googled the word, the search engine thought I meant "episode." Well, we are having an episode of the epizoodie in our household.

Darn the luck, it happened on a snow day from school. Or maybe that's a blessing, because Hubby and I holed up in the bed and slept away the morning, brewed some hot tea and ate some left over meatloaf, and then slept away the afternoon.

Awake, we'd moan at each other, shove a dog away from the foot of the bed, and pull the covers up over our chests, trying to get warm and comfortable at the same time. At least after 35 years together, we don't bite each other's heads off when we feel poorly. But this recovery is solitary business, even if we are sharing the same bed space.

To Have and To Hold

Twenty-nine years ago – a couple of lifetimes, actually, at 5:00, I put on a beige caftan and hung it with my turquoise jewelry. Hubby put on his favorite jeans leisure suit. It was 1978 after all. His best buddy put on a lovely three piece black suit. We climbed into our little used Toyota and buzzed down the street to the local Methodist church.

Hubby’s sister and mother met us at the church, along with a family friend. The minister was a no-show. After 20 minutes, in panic, I called him only to find him having dinner with his family. “Oh. Was I supposed to meet you tonight? Well, sorry. I’ll be right there.”

Thirty minutes later the ceremony began. The minister examined the paperwork. He smiled at Hubby and then asked the bride and groom to hold hands, as he happily tried to join my hand to Hubby’s best friend. We explained the mistake.

“Dearly beloved . . . do you Susan take this man . . .” Oops. No Susan present. My mind frantically began to wonder just how wrong this wedding, seemingly impromptu, was going to go wrong. Would it be legal if the minister continued to use the wrong name and actually married Hubby to Susan?

Hubby grinned when he looked at my face and stopped the ceremony. The minister peered at us for a moment or two in consternation, shrugged and began again.

Two weeks earlier Hubby’s best friend had arrived from Louisiana to be the witness at the wedding. After all, he thought that he was the cupid that had finally gotten Hubby to agree to marry me.

Five years earlier Hubby and I had met when I joined his choir. I couldn’t sing well, but I could read music and in that choir that was an advantage. I’d been smitten from the start. Hubby was as well but it took us six months to connect. From the first date we’d never been apart. Hubby had two previous marriages; I had one.

Our “courtship” really was a non-event. We had all the ups and downs of a couple that immediately start living together when they really don’t know anything about each other. My parents were horrified. His family had seen him through so many girls that they didn’t even bother to get to know them any longer. His sister has no memory of me in the first year of our relationship – I was just one of a long line of conquests.

After five years, my family was still irate but his had finally welcomed me into the flock. I wanted a visual commitment to show the world that Hubby was indeed, a “taken” man. Grudgingly, he finally agreed and so the best friend was invited to attend the wedding, arriving in mid-July. After two weeks of waiting for the big event, best friend finally told Hubby that he was going home that weekend. So on a Thursday at 6 p.m. we were at the church, formalizing our five year relationship.

Vows taken, papers signed, minister paid, we drove a couple more blocks to Hubby’s sister home where we had a blue Baskin Robbins cake and opened our one wedding present, an electric skillet. Hubby sat around long enough to have some ice cream and then he and best friend went off to play pool, their favorite evening activity and I went home, alone.

The best friend is now a full professor of music at a prestigious Louisiana college. The minister became mayor of our city is now a congressman in D.C. representing our district. Will’s sister moved to Houston where she lives and we spend every Christmas with her. Their mother died of cancer in the 1980’s – she was one of my dearest friends. My parents never reconciled to the wedding. The turquoise jewelry was stolen, along with almost everything we held dear, in a terrible robbery in the 1980's. The old Toyota was replaced with a variety of new cars until new cars began to cost more than our house had originally so now we're back, driving the old beaters -- just in much bigger format. No children graced our union but the fur babies have increased our lives ten-fold.

Four years ago Hubby’s sister flew to us for a month, and with the help of church friends, we celebrated our 25^th wedding anniversary with a concert raising funds for the church. With the help of our friends and family, I got the perfect wedding event. Folks came from near and far, the music was incredible, the concert with accompanying reception full of red roses and long gowns and tuxedos. The best friend flew in to duet with his pal. And Hubby sang to me, a song of his choosing. The song is not highly romantic. It is not full of passion and glitz. But it speaks to the love we have shared all these years.

“If ever I would leave you, it wouldn’t be in summer. . . .”

Thirty-four years ago we began our life together; twenty-nine years ago we were officially united. How lucky we have been to have had each other through the good and the bad, the happy and the sad, the ups and the downs. We promised in that ceremony to love each other to the end . . . and that promise has been kept.

“Summer, winter springtime, or fall! No, never could I leave you at all!”