My grandparents celebrated 60 years of marriage last weekend.
60 years of Good Morning, Goodnight, Turn off the light, No, you turn off the light, No, you, I was in bed first!, Fine! I’ll get up! Say… what’ll you give me for doing it? *wink wink*
Grandma says she met the Pennsylvania potato farmer in California while he was in the Navy, she living with a good friend and wanting to see a bit of the world outside of South Dakota.
He proposed two months later, and then had to leave for Hawaii for a year.
In the mind of a 19 year-old girl, that’s like… forever.
Her roommate, Betty, threatened to institutionalize her if she didn’t quit crying.
An eternity later he returned as promised, he married her, and within a year they created a little one, my Dad.
Three more babies came, homes changed, a business collapsed, and uncertainties lurked like a stray cat, but they remembered each other through it all.
As we were sitting at the table, everyone talking, my grandpa looked over at her and winked, asking, “How ya doing, kid?”
Probably the only person in the room who remembers “the girl” underneath the sagging skin, sees the sparkle in her eyes long dimmed to everyone else.
Country Man and I are coming up on five years this July.
How amazing to look back at all the changes that have occurred around us and in us.
And as every married couple knows, sometimes it seems those changes stand like a mountain between reaching 60 years.
It’s in those moments we take a cue from my grandparents and remember to go back to the beginning, where it all began, and hand-in-hand, climb that mountain.
Because in the beginning, it was admiration, kindness, rose-colored glasses.
Hopes and dreams and endless possibilities.
Sweetie, beautiful, my bride. Handsome, hardworking, strong.
These words, fuel for love, need reminding until the day comes when we look back over wrinklier shoulders and say,
that mountain, it had nothing on us.