(Today's post is in honor of a very special anniversary. Only ten days late!!)
Dear Rice,
Do you ever wonder how we’ve managed to stay married for 39 years? I do! I mean, I’m glad about it. But is it luck? Stubbornness? Divine intervention? (Us above, Year 0.)
Thirty-nine years. That’s a lot of anniversary celebrations. There’ve been decadent dinners at John’s in Boulder…the Briarwood in Golden…the Blue Ridge Grill in Atlanta. Romantic getaways, too, such as to Canoe Bay in Wisconsin and the Annapolis Inn in Maryland. (Best B&B evah!)
Of course, not all 39 celebrations have been starry and passionate. Remember our 20th? You had a business trip to New Orleans, and I refused to go with you. (Me in the Big Easy in July? Our marriage wouldn’t have survived my humidity fit.) And let’s not forget this year’s trip to Michigan to witness my sister Lisa marrying her long-time love Mitch…on our anniversary. Nothing says “Happy 39th” quite like sharing a hotel room with a two-month-old granddaughter, her brother, and their mother. For better or worse, the uber road trip and room-sharing allowed us to enjoy Mitch and Lisa’s garden wedding…their reception on the river…and the photos snapped in between at the Y, where their love story started twelve years ago. (Lisa and Mitch below, Year 0.)
Speaking of anniversary memories, do you remember our 33rd? Or should I call it by its other name: The Lake Martin 9-1-1 Incident?
The dog days of summer were upon us. We should’ve been carefree empty nesters. Yet our adult children kept boomeranging back home. My mom needed a lot of care—getting to chemo and doctor’s appointments. Work deadlines were merciless. We were burned out. When a co-worker suggested to you that we use her lake house for a weekend getaway, we were on it. I can still see her place in my mind—beautiful, rustic, chic. And the lake—clear, aqua, expansive—against a lush green landscape. A couple icy adult beverages and some down time on the dock were just the ticket. No cell service? No problem. We were on the lake!
There on the water, I felt alive like I hadn’t felt forever. I eyed the jet skis tied at the dock. I called dibs on the red one. Named her Stella, then bragged to you about how the next day, Stella and I were gonna go out and spin double nickels on the lake together! (That’s code for 55, my pending age at the time, and the speed limit I was ready to push. And yes, let’s pretend that’s me and Stella in the pic below.)
“Why wait?” you asked. (You loooooove to egg me on.) And the next thing I knew, I was speeding across the lake, wind and water whipping my hair. Exhilarated, I found the marina “right beyond the point,” as they say in lake-speak. I visited with several of the locals, and then I gassed up and headed back onto the water. I loved this. I totally loved Lake Martin.
Here’s the thing, though. After leaving the marina, I realized that I didn’t know Lake Martin. (For instance, I didn’t then know that its surface covers over 68 square miles in three different counties.) Yup, I was out on a big ol’ lake…without a cell phone…and without recollection of the name of Linda’s subdivision or her street address. Shoot, I didn’t even know Linda’s last name.
Only after leaving the marina did I actually start to pay attention to my surroundings. I passed by colorful clusters of Adirondack chairs on the shore…cozy cottages…flapping flags. Then I passed them again. And again. Meanwhile, black clouds loomed. Lightning flirted, about to flicker. I couldn’t find Linda’s lake house. Nor could I retrace my way to the marina. Then yowza! I spotted a father and son still fishing on their dock. I edged Stella near them.
“If you don’t help me,” I screeched, “I’m going to beach myself right here and die in your cove in the rain and the lightning!” Okay, so maybe my memory of this is a tad dramatic. But the next thing I knew, the father and son started up their boat and had me follow them through the now dark waters back to the marina. I waved a “thank you” as some young people near the dock helped me secure Stella.
People seemed glad to see me…almost as if they knew me. Then I realized they practically did. They explained that an “elderly gentleman” had driven there “hours” earlier, worried about his wife on the water. I’m sorry that made me snicker because, truly, I felt bad about the worry I had caused you. I asked if someone could drive me to the local police station, figuring that was my best bet for connecting with you at that point.
Yet the next thing I knew, I was in the back seat of a jeep, riding around the wooded back roads of Lake Martin. The two young fellows in the front seat insisted they could find Linda’s lake house. They begged me to remember landmarks. “A little chapel, maybe?” I recalled. What about road names? they asked. “Any road names?”
“Peckerwood!” I shouted, ecstatic and then mortified to remember that particular name. Seconds later, I recognized the street sign. And then Linda’s subdivision sign. Hallelujah!
We pulled into Linda’s drive. The jeep engine was still running when the front door of the lake house flung open. You ran out, two law officers on your tail. You looked ashen from worry and about eighty years old. For a minute I thought you might chew me out. But you didn’t. Your smile lit the night, and you hugged me tight. Realizing I was safe, the officers left PDQ. So did my young heroes—before we could even offer a reward.
Later down on the dock, you shared your version of the story. You called the police after leaving the marina. (Certainly I was okay, but what if….?) The officers came to Linda’s and paced the dock with you. They shined their flashlights into the water. They eyed you with suspicion. Made you feel like you were in a Law and Order episode. Asked you a zillion questions.
As for me, I asked you only one: “How could you not remember after 30-plus years with me that I get lost everywhere, even in my own driveway?” To your credit, you didn’t attempt a comeback. And maybe there lies the key to a lasting marriage: Sometimes you just have to shrug, grin, and give in to the crazy.
So thanks for 39 years of crazy. Here’s to more fun years ahead. Love you loads! Me
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