Today marks 41 years of marriage for my parents. Where she stood up in her $50 dress for Sears and he slipped a sort-of-unsuccessfully-used-by-his-cousin set of rings on her finger.
Forty-one years of my mom getting up early to make his sandwich before he leaves for work. Forty-one years of him rubbing her shoulders and her shoving her cold hands down his shirt.
Forty-one years of him convincing her to do things like water ski before she knew how to swim and her making him do things like go to the doctor when he gets foreign objects lodged in his eye.
Forty-one years of them loving to go on vacation together, where they spend a good of their time apart. She shops and he takes a nap in the car, or she plays the slots while he finds a nice drink in the bar.
Forty-one years of her lecturing him about hooky cows and never being pleased with the animals’ water situation.
Forty-one years of him being the life of the party and her shaking her head. Forty-one years of dancing together and laughing together and doing life really well, together.
Forty-one years of practice so they were ready to be Nan and Grandad, who these kids of mine think hung the moon.
Forty-one down. I know it hasn’t always been easy, but they’ve certainly made it appear so. Here’s on to forty-two.