Dodie, to answer your question about how I stayed with the
same man for 57 years and more importantly how he's stayed with me...Endurance!
An 8 letter word. Also we never knew we had any other options. Now
we find out we do, but it's too late. I need him and he needs me! Our lives have
intertwined. Is this the beginning of an anniversary blog?
Oh! stop me Lord.
We were married on September 11, 1954, fifty seven years ago today. Actually, we met in high school in study hall more like sixty one years ago. I was 16--soon to be 17, and he was just 17. It was 1950.
Our dating was simple, sort of like one of those Norman Rockwell paintings. Mostly going to the movies. He had no car and would take a bus from Baldwin where he lived, to where I lived in Rockville Centre. After the movies we'd have a soda at the soda shop across the street from the movies. He had limited funds, so the 95 cent (each) movie ticket and 25 cent soda (which we no doubt shared...and are still doing so today...old habits DO die hard!) meant he had no money for the bus fare home. This resulted in a 3 mile walk back to Baldwin (no problem, he was an athlete). We eventually went steady. He gave me his class ring...which I somehow lost...we graduated...he went to a local college...I went to work.
Finally in 1954, I told him put up or shut up. I was tired of dating--in those days we didn't live together--it was all strictly by the book. He was in his last year of college when we married. He never proposed.
Our wedding took place during a hurricane. It's blustery appearance had me walking up the steps of the church under an umbrella and a bit wrinkled; the wedding guests looked more like refugees right off the boat in their raincoats and bandannas. About twenty five people, all relatives, had been invited to our reception. It was held at a small restaurant called the Oakland Rest (something like that, the details are a little fuzzy), where all my mother could afford for dinner was chicken coquettes. My friend's father bought us the wedding cake.
Later, we discovered that after our little reception, my uncle Henry invited everyone back to his house in Bellmore for another reception. He moved the piano outside, and according to accounts, everyone had a swinging good time, except maybe my Aunt, who worried about getting the piano back inside!
As we took off for our honeymoon to the Farm on the Hill in the Poconos, the sky cleared, and the sun shone. Providence. Neither one of us had ever driven that far off the Island (Long Island) and here we were, on our way to Pennsylvania. Bob driving in my late father's car--a maroon, 4 door, 1949 Pontiac--through the Bronx and over the George Washington bridge.
I think about that trip. How did we do that? I wonder if it is a metaphor for our long life together. A long journey into unknown territory for me, young and naive, and for him, young and responsible. A winning combination--I guess. And, we're still traveling...me, old and not quite as naive...him, old and very responsible. Will we make it?
We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
Oh! stop me Lord.
We were married on September 11, 1954, fifty seven years ago today. Actually, we met in high school in study hall more like sixty one years ago. I was 16--soon to be 17, and he was just 17. It was 1950.
Our dating was simple, sort of like one of those Norman Rockwell paintings. Mostly going to the movies. He had no car and would take a bus from Baldwin where he lived, to where I lived in Rockville Centre. After the movies we'd have a soda at the soda shop across the street from the movies. He had limited funds, so the 95 cent (each) movie ticket and 25 cent soda (which we no doubt shared...and are still doing so today...old habits DO die hard!) meant he had no money for the bus fare home. This resulted in a 3 mile walk back to Baldwin (no problem, he was an athlete). We eventually went steady. He gave me his class ring...which I somehow lost...we graduated...he went to a local college...I went to work.
Finally in 1954, I told him put up or shut up. I was tired of dating--in those days we didn't live together--it was all strictly by the book. He was in his last year of college when we married. He never proposed.
Our wedding took place during a hurricane. It's blustery appearance had me walking up the steps of the church under an umbrella and a bit wrinkled; the wedding guests looked more like refugees right off the boat in their raincoats and bandannas. About twenty five people, all relatives, had been invited to our reception. It was held at a small restaurant called the Oakland Rest (something like that, the details are a little fuzzy), where all my mother could afford for dinner was chicken coquettes. My friend's father bought us the wedding cake.
Later, we discovered that after our little reception, my uncle Henry invited everyone back to his house in Bellmore for another reception. He moved the piano outside, and according to accounts, everyone had a swinging good time, except maybe my Aunt, who worried about getting the piano back inside!
As we took off for our honeymoon to the Farm on the Hill in the Poconos, the sky cleared, and the sun shone. Providence. Neither one of us had ever driven that far off the Island (Long Island) and here we were, on our way to Pennsylvania. Bob driving in my late father's car--a maroon, 4 door, 1949 Pontiac--through the Bronx and over the George Washington bridge.
I think about that trip. How did we do that? I wonder if it is a metaphor for our long life together. A long journey into unknown territory for me, young and naive, and for him, young and responsible. A winning combination--I guess. And, we're still traveling...me, old and not quite as naive...him, old and very responsible. Will we make it?
We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
Never Proposed???!!! I hadn't heard about that small detail!! Actually now that I think of it...David didn't do the traditional proposal either! He told me he was going to Europe for a year & wanted to bring along a wife- would I like to go! Hmmmm...30 years later I'm very happy I said YES!
ReplyDeleteOh, Oh, Oh, too precious for words. You got it, babe! That was definitely a Normal Rockwell. We were all so innocent then. No terrorists, no anthrax, no shoe bombers, and no undie bombers. We were virgins and didn't think much of it because everyone was! Now I hear from the kiddie grapevine, that if you're a virgin, you're a wierdo!
ReplyDeleteLove you and Bob and you just might make it!