Patriotic Anniversary

Barry and I met on the fourth of July. That was a turning point in my life. 

First Christmas in our Mountain Home. We were so happy.

I teach my students to write down the turning points of their lives as a way to organize their memoirs. Meeting Barry was a large turning point in my life. I had become disenchanted with dating, with men, and wanted nothing to do with their kind. I fell in love with a beautiful young mare my brother had bought for the farm. She kept me busy and I could depend on her. I told myself I could teach and ride horseback and never miss dating.

I had graduated from college and come home like the good little girl I was expected to be. The men I dated expected me to be something I was not. But I agreed to go on a blind date with a young man, Barry Beall, who would not take no for an answer. 

He arrived in a maroon Chevy II convertible, climbed out of his car and walked toward me where I stood watching my older brothers play horse shoes in our yard. I was not impressed with my date's looks -- tall, skinny with a crew cut. He wore the worst looking knit swim shorts I'd ever seen. 

My first impression changed completely by the time we had taken a boat ride and spent time talking, and watching the fireworks that night. We fell in love on July 4th. We married the following year on Flag Day, June 14. 

He grew more handsome as he aged.

Today at our table our old friends gathered and we remembered Barry. I know he was with us. We couldn't see him but I felt his presence and his love.

We were The Six

Flag Day, June 14

On Flag Day, June 14, 1964, I awoke anxious and teary. You would have thought I was on my way to the gallows. My beloved called me and all I could do was cry. "What in the world is wrong?" he asked.
"I don't know. I just can't stop crying."
That was how my wedding day began. I have heard of grooms passing out and bride's jitters, but I was a basket case. My sweet mother kept reassuring me that if I didn't want to go through with the wedding it was all right. But that was not my problem. I wanted to get married,  but I was terrified of getting married. What if I was making a huge mistake? Would my life be ruined?
But then I'd think about him and I couldn't imagine my life without him.

By the time I reached the First Methodist Church,  my anxiety had become nervous laughter. I couldn't stop smiling and laughing. The wedding took place at 3:00 PM. I barely remember the ceremony.

 I remember that I was doing well until my brothers came through the receiving line. They looked so serious -- almost as if they were attending a funeral. Then I began to bawl again.

What did Barry's mother and father think? They probably were afraid their son had married some kind of a mental case. Luckily they had known me for almost a year.

On that lovely sunny day, much like today -- which would have been our 47th  anniversary --I embarked on a journey with the kindest man, the wittiest man, a man who would protect me and do all he could to make me happy. What a journey with its ups and downs, its peaks and deep valleys that we traveled together never giving up on each other or our marriage, even when days were darkest.

I loved his family and he loved mine. We felt we had it all, and we did. We really had all that mattered.

Miracle of Love

                     for Barry

You brought me spring in winter.

The cold melted away,

as jonquils bloomed

and tulips tilted delicate edges
toward the sun.

You brought me sunshine
in the storm.
As dark clouds raced past,
you opened mirrors in blue sky
to reflect the butterflies.

You brought me youth when I was old,
you found my childhood self.
You touched my soul with tenderness,
a touch of love so deep
my spirit wept.

Anniversaries that Hurt

Throughout all the years of my marriage, my dear one never forgot our wedding  anniversary. Often I forgot, but not once in all those years did he.
This past year, from July 21, 2009 until now, it seems I can't forget the anniversaries of my life.
I met my husband on the Fourth of July. We had our first date. This past weekend I remembered.
We had a blind date. I was not expecting much. I had sworn off men and knew this guy would be a loser like so many I'd dated since graduating from college.
But, boy was I wrong.

We "grew" on each other that beautiful summer day. At first I was not impressed with the tall, lanky man, his blond hair, his easy smile and teasing ways. He made me furious when he left me alone while he played guitar and sang for a bevy of beautiful young women gathered around him like he was something special.

But when he came back to me, he was mine for the next six hours. And during those hours I completely changed my mind.

One might think we had a particular passion for patriotic holidays. The following year we married on Flag Day.
Last month was our wedding anniversary. This weekend was the anniversary of our first date and our falling in love. Such sweet memories only make these days harder to bear alone.
Others don't think about what we, who have lost half of ourselves, feel on such days. We don't call our friends and weep. We stay home, pour out our feelings on paper or into a computer so we don't make others feel uncomfortable. We stay up late and watch the Capital Fourth and the birthday celebration of Pete Seeger. We listen to Joan Baez, the idol of our youth, lift her still glorious voice singing, "Where Have All the Flowers Gone,"  and we remember.