Rose and I were married 29 years ago today in a small, private ceremony, by a minister who had laryngitis. Time flies. It really doesn’t seem that long.
We had no money, no blessings, no great prospects on the horizon, and plenty of baggage that would take some time to toss off. Chances were that our marriage wouldn’t work. But it has--with a lot of work and laughter. Mostly with Rose laughing at me, thank goodness.
I’ve known Rose since I was 12. We lived in the same town, went to the same schools, and knew the same people. Our parents and grandparents worked in the same factories, and our memories of certain places and times are similarly the same. She knew me as a boy. I knew her as a young girl, though she’s older than me. When I was in 8th grade, she was a senior. Years apart when you’re kids. We both hunger for Gene’s hot dogs in the spring, and we remember listening to basketball games on the radio during sectional, when there were three high schools in town. We moved away, but not far.
We’ve traveled a lot of miles together. I’m 52 now, so she’s been part of my life, in one way or another, for 40 years.
When I said I wanted to be a writer, she said, “so be a writer.” I don’t think either of us knew what we were getting ourselves into, but here we are. My 7th novel comes out in May, and she has been by my side, cheering me on, the whole way.
Honestly, there’s so much more to say, but really it’s simple. I’m lucky. I have the comfort of home and I share it with the love of my life. It doesn’t get any better than that.
I hope we have 40 more years together. Happy Anniversary, Rose... LL