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Wedding Anniversary Reflections

searchAfter all these years, I still love him. Husband and I recently celebrated our wedding anniversary. Forty-seven years of marital bliss. Well, mostly bliss – there have been times when joy and happiness were pushed aside, just like in all relationships. Marriages, friendships, business partnerships – all suffer trials and disagreements. But during the past 47 years Husband has been my best friend, my constant companion, and my number one cheerleader. I’m thankful he’s mine.

            We’ve raised two children, moved six times, buried parents, welcomed eight grandchildren, built one house, signed three home mortgages and a few business loans, travelled to foreign countries, straddled the Continental Divide, flown around Denali, wiped each other’s brow, celebrated birthdays and job promotions and retirements.

Now, I realize that in three years we’ll celebrate a golden anniversary. Fifty years! And my first thought is that old people are married for fifty years, and we’re not old.  We’ve all heard and read advice for long marriages. Never go to bed angry. Keep a sense of humor. Communicate. Admit when you’re wrong. Agree to disagree. Continue to date. Overlook mistakes. Cultivate the same interests. Have the same basic values – religion and morals. It’s impossible to always uphold these.

Many sleepless nights I’ve a replayed a conversation when I wished I’d said something or wished I’d kept my mouth shut and I’m still angry. There are times I find something funny and he doesn’t. I laughed when Husband was frustrated because we dropped a wooden paddle into the water from a pontoon boat and he couldn’t get the boat close enough to pick it up. I didn’t think it was funny when I spilled pickle juice on my just mopped kitchen floor. Our senses of humor don’t always match.

Communicate. Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no. Sometimes with words. Sometimes silently. I don’t tell Husband all my secrets. I don’t always tell him when I’m frustrated about something and then I’ve spoken harshly to him for no good reason. I do tell him joys and my day’s schedule.

Every marriage, every relationship, is different. Yes, basic values and common interests and communicating build strong marriages.   But isn’t commitment the backbone of a long-lasting relationship? The commitment when we said, “I do.” The devotion we promised no matter the circumstances: rich, poor, better, worse, sick, healthy. A vow to love and cherish.

I’ll never forget what a minister said after a couple had made these promises. “Turn and face your family and friends,” he told the bride and groom. “Now, you have just promised, in front of all these people who love you, to stay together forever. Don’t break that promise to each other or them or God. No matter what happens, stay together.” I reached for Husband’s hand – the one I’d pledged to stay with forever.

Marriage ceremonies often end with a kiss. The first kiss as a married couple. I believe in hugging and kissing. When our children were young teenagers, Husband and I wrapped our arms around each other one night after supper and kissed, as we often did, and they closed their eyes and turned their heads. I laughed and said, “Aren’t you glad your parents love each other?”

And we always will. Even though we don’t follow all the advice of a long marriage. We promised. And besides, there’s no one I’d rather grow old with than Husband. We have a few more mountains to climb.

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The Real Story of Mr. Lizard

imgresEvery August I drag out Husband’s and my wedding pictures when we celebrate our anniversary and share them with anyone who will look. And every year someone, now one of our Grands, asks, “What’s he doing?” The picture shows a man, dressed in a white jacket and black pants, bent over and reaching for something under a church pew.

August 3, 1969. Because Byrdstown First Christian Church wasn’t air-conditioned, the windows were raised, hopefully, to allow a breeze. Large fans had circulated air before the 4:30 p.m. ceremony, but were turned off when the wedding music began.

I stood downstairs, directly under the sanctuary, with Dad. The bridesmaids had walked up the steps and down the aisle. Dad kissed my cheek and assured me that I would always be his little girl and he was happy that I was marrying the man I loved, and then, using his white handkerchief, he blotted tears and sweat from my face. Dad and I took deep breaths and waited for silence. When the organ music stopped it was our cue that the rest of the wedding party was in place and we should walk up the steps.

The music stopped and Dad and I heard screams and stomping. Where the guests leaving the church?

Dad left me standing at the bottom of the steps and ran upstairs. Some women stood on pews and many guests stood in the aisle. Two groomsmen, bent from the waist, stretched their arms under pews. T. D. raised his hand. He held a small blue-tailed lizard between his thumb and fingers. The guests applauded. The lizard was taken outside and left near a huge oak tree.   And when the organist hit the first note of the wedding march, Dad walked me down the aisle to Husband’s side.

It was a beautiful wedding. Bridesmaids wore yellow dresses and carried green Shasta mums. Husband’s little sisters were junior bridesmaid and flower girl. Groomsmen wore white jackets and black bowties. Ferns, candles, sprays of flowers adorned the church. And what is remembered most about our wedding? Mr. Lizard.

Most people guessed he crawled inside thru an open window. Not unusual, especially on a hot day. And that’s exactly what I assumed until a few months ago. During a family gathering, I sat with Husband’s cousins around Aunt Bill’s dining room table.

“You know, I need to tell you something,” cousin John said. “Remember that lizard at your wedding?” A few heads nodded. Some people laughed, remembering the commotion.

John took a deep breath. “Well, all these years, I’ve felt guilty. You know everyone thought that lizard came in through a window? It didn’t. Dad did it.”

“He what?” I exclaimed.

“Dad found it outside on the church porch and stuck it in his suit coat pocket. He took it out and let it go right where we were sitting. No one knew except me. Not even Momma. And all these years, I’ve felt bad about it. I’m really sorry.”

I was surprised and immediately accepted John’s apology. It never occurred to me that anyone, not even an uncle who liked to play jokes, was responsible for Mr. Lizard. John’s parents are both deceased, but John apologized profusely for his dad. “He shouldn’t have done it.”

Maybe not. But it’s a good story, and now I can tell the real story about Mr. Lizard. A much better story than the one I’ve told for 46 years.

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Who Gives This Bride?

 

Screen Shot 2014-06-04 at 2.53.52 PMWhen my friend Kae Fleming said that Santa would escort her son’s bride down the aisle, I knew there was a good story.

 

It seems that for years, Santa had surprised the Fleming family while they ate Christmas Eve dinner at a Chinese restaurant.  Unknown to Kae’s son Drake, Santa was their family friend, Bobby, who owned the local dry cleaning business.  Like other children, Drake noticed Santa’s red suit of hanging in the dry cleaners and accepted Bobby’s explanation that Santa had to get his clothes cleaned, just like everyone else.  Every Christmas Eve, Santa held Drake on his lap and gave him a small gift.

 

Bobby lived on a big farm close to the Duck River where he invited friends to play, fish, swim, and ride 4-wheelers.  Among Bobby’s guests were Drake’s family and Bobby’s girlfriend and her two young daughters.  It never occurred to Drake or the other children that Bobby was Santa; he was a friend who cleaned their clothes and had a great place to play.

 

Fast forward to Drake’s high school years.  For four years in homeroom class, his assigned seat was beside Kayla Floyd, Bobby’s girlfriend’s daughter.  By the fall of their sophomore years, Drake and Kayla’s friendship morphed into a romance.  A romance that blossomed and grew.  They played team sports: football for him, softball for her.  They went to proms, hung out with friends, courted like high school sweethearts do.

 

And then they graduated.  Drake accepted an appointment to West Point in New York, and Kayla chose to enroll in Tennessee Tech and play on the softball team.  Separated by 850 miles, Drake and Kayla continued their courtship with late night phone calls, daily texts and emails, and sporadic visits during their college years. They stayed committed to each other and to completing their educations.

 

One summer night last year, Drake’s family hosted a picnic gathering for family and friends.  Drake asked everyone to bow their heads for grace and right in the middle of the prayer, he said, “Y’all can raise your heads now, in case you haven’t figured out why you’re here.”  And then he dropped to one knee and proposed to Kayla.  The picnic turned into an engagement party.

 

As the wedding plans were made, Kayla chose Bobby – the man who was Santa and had invited Drake’s and Kayla’s families to play at his farm – to walk her down the aisle.  Although Bobby and Kayla’s mom’s relationship ended years earlier, a special bond between Bobby and Kayla stuck.  Bobby mentored and encouraged her as an athlete, a student, and a young lady.

 

Now Drake and Kayla have graduated from college and will wed on June 14 at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in Columbia Tennessee.   Drake’s mother said, “Bobby will walk Kayla down the aisle to give her away to Drake!  He’ll wear a tuxedo, but probably should’ve considered a Santa suit!”

 

Surely, Bobby will wear his Santa suit for the reception.  And I hope they stage a photo of Drake sitting on Santa’s knee and Kayla, in her beautiful white wedding dress, holding Santa’s hand.

Imagine the questions that Drake and Kayla will be asked later.  Why did Santa come to your wedding?  Is that really Santa?

Yes, for this bride and groom, Bobby is really Santa.