|1984 - on our honeymoon|
27 years is a long time. But when I talk to someone who's been married
for 50 years, I can't wrap my mind around being married that long.
27 years of 365 days with three meals a day adds up to 29,565 meals. I didn't keep a tally so there's no way to know how many meals I didn't cook when we went to Taco Bell, or to a friend's house, or to a church potluck, or bought TV dinners, or I didn't feel like cooking. Just to be on the safe side, I can say that I've cooked at at least 20,000 meals since saying "I do."
Not the most romantic thoughts on an anniversary, but marriage is sharing a life and life is composed of good days and bad days, a little special and a whole lot of normal, high points and low points, flying high and scraping bottom, sometimes stretching and occasionally breaking.
If you were to ask me when I became Keith's wife I would say July 7, 1984. But in all honesty, I'm still becoming his wife. We're not the same people we were 27 years ago. We've learned and grown and matured and regressed. We've experienced amazing moments of emotional intimacy and frustrating episodes of dumb-founding stupidity.
So I'm up for the next 25 years, though the thought of gout, and walkers, and hardened arteries, and loss of memory, hair, and hearing, and Keith getting bushy eyebrows and ear hair is a bit scary.
I love you, Keith, even if you don't like sharing your Kindle with me.