Nancy and I drove away from the church in Chamberlain as a just-married couple 56 years ago this weekend.
Just married. The words were scrawled in shaving cream across the windows of the racy, 1962 Chevrolet I drove. Strings of tin cans hooked to the Impala’s back bumper clanged on the pavement as we motored down the street. People stared as we passed. That’s part of a wedding.
Late that afternoon, after we had shared a meal with guests, after we had cleaned the car windows and thrown away the strings of cans, we headed for Brookings and our life together in the Chevy.
That Impala was a sweet ride, but six months into our marriage, the massive V-8 engine blew. We found ourselves shopping for something more practical. We found ourselves shopping for something two people with unpaid college loans and no savings could afford. I have always felt lucky that the marriage lasted longer than the get-away car.
Somehow, although we started our life together with part-time jobs and a two-room apartment over a downtown Brookings tavern, we have made it this far. If I am being honest, sometimes it took a little luck. Sometimes, everything about being a couple was magical, like the ending to a Doris Day film. And once or twice, we were just too stubborn to give up.
I suppose that part doesn’t sound romantic, but it’s a fact. I think that once or twice in almost any long-standing relationship, the seemingly small things — the toilet paper rolled the wrong way, the mud tracked from the back door all the way across the house, the check that didn’t get entered in the register, such tiny things — build up and threaten to become deal breakers. That’s when stubbornness is essential. I have yet to see a marriage in which the participants never, ever, annoyed each other. We are talking about human beings here.
In fact, as I was searching for gift ideas for an extended marriage like ours, I happened on a quote that I am pretty sure Nancy would nod her head over if I said it to her. The quote, attributed to American comic Rita Rudner, goes, “I love being married. It’s so great to find that one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life.’’ In my defense, I don’t really “want’’ to annoy her. It just happens.
Another quote about marriage is attributed to any number of people. I’m going with journalist Mignon McLaughlin as the one who first said, “A happy marriage requires falling in love over an over again, with the same person.’’ If you can do that, over and over, with the person who wants to annoy you for the rest of your life, you have a good thing going. That doesn’t sound romantic, either, at first blush. It makes sense to me after all these years together.
Now, 56 years is kind of a ho-hum anniversary The gift suggestions I found on a Hallmark site for such an anniversary were, well, bland, considering the effort it takes to get this far. You know how 25 years is a silver anniversary, 50 years is gold and 75 is diamond? Well, the suggestion for 56 years is “day.’’
Day? Hey, silver, gold and diamonds are major gifts. They show how much a guy cares, never mind that I couldn’t afford them. Last year was 55 years. That one was emerald. The college loans are gone and we have modest savings, but emeralds are out of our league.
The Hallmark site suggests for a “Day’’ anniversary we watch movies with “day’’ in the title. I’m thinking “The Longest Day,’’ or “Day of the Jackal.’’ I’m also thinking those films would bore Nancy. Maybe something featuring Doris Day?
Much happens in 56 years. Friends and family members die. Kids, grandkids and great-grandkids are born. Cancer, bad shoulders, spine surgeries occur. Aging happens.
Sometimes, though, I can look across the room and still see the young woman who slid into the front seat of the Impala outside the church, and 56 years is no time at all.