On the last day of July, Val and I celebrated our 56th wedding anniversary. Nobody is more surprised than I am by two facts: that so much time has gone by so very rapidly, and that we are still happily, together.
Of course, everyone at the time they take their marriage vows intends for the marriage to last forever. But a great many don’t seem to last, so it is a nice surprise for those of us who, despite the usual rough patches and statistics to the contrary, not only manage to stick together, but remain happily coupled.
In some ways, our marriage did not have an auspicious beginning. Although neither of us were extremely young and already held good jobs, within a few months of getting married, both of us became unemployed.
While I managed to find temporary publicity work, Val, a qualified project engineer, could not find a good opportunity in New York, but did receive two offers: one in St. Louis and one in Chicago; he chose the latter.
We were so naive, we never even asked his new employer about paying for our move, (they would have) but packed our belongings ourselves. One of my favorite memories is of my new husband struggling to fashion a cardboard cover for the ironing board. It took several hours, yards of tape and quite a few unprintable words on his part before the job was complete.
In all, we sent 44 boxes, each one packed by us, via parcel post to Chicago. Now, 56 years and 14 moves later, I’ve become an experienced moving survivor and use that expertise as part of my work at Pearce Senior Services, helping others through the process.
When we arrived in Chicago, it was late at night and raining. The small apartment-hotel where we had a reservation had lost its power and looked eerily foreboding in flickering candlelight.
Famished, and tired after our plane trip, we left the hotel to search for some nearby place to have a late snack. As we were walking, the heavens suddenly let loose with a drenching rain. Exhausted and miserable, I had had all I could take, and so I stopped dead in my tracks, sobbing uncontrollably and refusing to take another step unless Val promised to take me back to New York in the morning.
Of course, by morning when the sun came out, Chicago didn’t seem quite so terrible anymore. Looking back, I realize that for some reason, many of our moves coincided with rainy weather.
Four years and two sons later, we left Chicago for one year back in New York, and then off to Val’s engineering assignment in Japan. Upon arrival, we moved into the completely unsuitable doll-size cottage reserved for us, only to be hit by the month-long “nyubai,” or Japanese rainy season.
A more experienced wife by now, I didn’t cry, but firmly insisted that Val inform the company they needed to find us a better (translation, American-sized) place to live.
Our move from Long Island to Connecticut was no cinch either. I came first in order to accept a job offer, and commuted weekends for two years until Val was able to join me.
Moving so many times, raising three children and having a variety of careers has taught me to recognize that life is a series of changes, so you might as well accept and try to enjoy whatever advantages each one presents.
I am sure the reason I have been able to weather all the changes is due in no small measure to the one reliable constant in my life ... the love and support of a wonderful partner.
Thank you, Val, for 56 exhilarating years.
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