Forty-Seven Years

As I sit here, separated from my husband and living with my oldies, it is not lost on me that I have not excelled at marriage.

My oldies (my incredible parents) were married 47 years ago today. They continue to be living examples of what a marriage should look like. It's not all roses and sweetness. It's a quiet devotion and respect of each other. It's love and concern that truly wants the best for each other. It's snapping in frustration and snapping out of the mood or the attitude before ugly things are said. It's Honor with a capital H.

Sometimes I watch them ... I've been doing it for years. I was born 17 months after their marriage and I've been studying them my entire life. Of course they have had their struggles and rocky times. Even in those circumstances, they somehow remain steadfast in their union.

We all know it takes two people to make a strong marriage just like it takes two people to screw it up. We're supposed to believe that no problems are insurmountable. Sorry, I don't believe that anymore.

I do believe shining examples of strong and healthy marriages are all around us. I live here. I see it every day.

An Anniversary of Sorts

Today is sort of an anniversary. "Sort of" comes into play for a couple of reasons:

Technically, the husband and I got married right after midnight so our real anniversary is January 1st but since the ceremony was at our friends' home during a New Year's celebration, I think of New Year's Eve as the actual anniversary.

Although we will probably both acknowledge this evening in our own way, we will not be doing it as a couple.

It's sort of sad. (OK, really sad.) Yet, it's sort of a relief. It's also sort of mind boggling and scary. It's sort of lonely. It's definitely different than any NYE I've celebrated in the last 18 years.

I'm looking forward to 2009 and I'm sort of ready for this holiday to be over.

Houseboy to the Rescue

Houseboy has come to my rescue more than once. Actually, more than I care to count.

When the oldies were with us, he dealt with many body function disasters. He never complained, even when Hangdog referred to him as "That man." He picked them up, took them places, ran errands for them and hauled many things up and down the stairs. After a major shopping trip, they would leave things in their trunk for him to unload. He installed lots of "must have" gizmos.

There's an Amish market near his home and he regularly brought them treats. Hangdog could not remember his name but he gobbled up the pastries.

I get teased for it but I admit, he does tons of things for me, like getting on ladders or toting things I cannot lift. He (and his crew) fight the weekly battle with the lawn. Or snow. Or storms.

This week, Houseboy and his wife are headed to a sunny destination to celebrate their 25th anniversary. I have witnessed them together and they are still madly in love. They have two children and their individual schedules are crazy. Yet, they stay connected. I don't think he's ever been in my home without talking to her and/or one of the children.

I tease him with the nickname "Houseboy." He's not a boy; He's a man. He's a man that I would be thrilled to see the baby emulate.

Work ethic. Kindness. Laughter. Loyalty. Family love. He's the poster child for all of these things. That's probably why I trust him with my dog and he has keys to my house.

An Anniversary

Today is an important anniversary. Three years ago, an amazing man moved out of this life and on to the next. That man was my Uncle Ken.

The bulk of his professional life was spent as a Methodist minister. Before that, he worked for Yardley. My mother tells me he was the third top salesman in the nation. (I still have numerous Yardley products that he gave me.) Sometimes I try to imagine the look on his wife's face when he announced that he needed to leave this lucrative position and go into the seminary.

He loved babies. His wife had four and said, "Enough!" As most minister's families will tell you, his heart may be at home but his days and nights belong to the parishoners. I suspect being a minister's wife (or child) is a noble, yet lonely calling. He lived to enjoy most of his grandchildren. Wouldn't he be thrilled to know another is on the way?

When the husband and I were married, our official ceremony was performed by a Justice of the Peace. (We'd both been married before.) Yet, I had a problem that we had not made a commitment with God involved. Less than a week after our legal marriage, Uncle Ken and Aunt Cess came to town. He let us take our vows again and he added God to our union. I needed it.

When I was a little girl, I didn't see them very often but each visit is ingrained in my mind. He was also my "go-to" person. If I had a question about the bible or some puzzling nibble about evolution versus creation, I would ask Uncle Ken.

His works spanned the world. Still do. When his fluke of an illness caused his kidneys to fail, he just added that to his prayer list. He spent countless hours (years!) in dialysis. Beyond comforting the other patients, he went through his prayer list. Sometimes he would tell me that he was praying for me, my family, my dog. This always struck me as so him -- "You're sitting in dialysis and you're praying for my dog?!"

He was a shopper and a collector, much to his wife's chagrin. Someone has to be the saver and someone has to be the spender in each marriage. Ying and Yang.

He had the nerve to die during one of Florida's worst hurricane seasons. Three in a row -- no relief in sight. My parents and I flew in. The devastation we saw from the air only scratched the surface of the devastation in our hearts.

Uncle Ken didn't live life with blinders on. Instead, he took the blinders off and jumped in to help. I think he wanted all of us to take them off. So, I try.