​Musings from the Middle: Happy Anniversary!

by Cathy Allie

     When people meet my husband and me, and we tell them we are getting ready to have a milestone anniversary of being married 20 years next week, there are mixed reactions.  Try on a few.
     One lady said, “Well, congratulations!  However, many years you have been married, I am proud of you. Marriage stinks.” She used a little less friendly version of stinks, but this is, after all, a family paper.
     While I don’t necessarily agree that marriage stinks every day, there are some days when it does. When I am whining about not getting a room painted or the yard not being trimmed correctly, I am sure David thinks it stinks. His bachelor pad looked like a haunted house until I came along and exorcised those ghosts away.
    Alternately, when he is hanging on to the remote like it is providing pain meds after back surgery, just flicking it incessantly, I may feel like it stinks. I haven’t controlled the television for some 20 years. But when I find the softest t-shirt for him to sleep in on a clearance rack, or when he asks the waitress for more butter right when I run out, all is forgiven.
    When we shared our anniversary news, another lady said, “Oh!  I always wanted to be married for 50 years!  Congratulations!” and she walked away before I could ask her why she wouldn’t be married that long or explain that it would be impossible for us to have reached 50 years for a number of reasons. 
     First, we are barely that old… okay that is what we are telling ourselves. Second, my husband and I met a little later in life, and the all-revered 50 mile marker wasn’t even on the horizon. We are goal setters, but only incremental ones.
    We are the couple that was like, “Hey, what if we shoot for 12 years?  It seems like a nice round number. People use it to package eggs and cupcakes. Wanna’ give it a shot?”  And when we got to twelve, then and only then, did we dare think about that next eight. 
     Now that we have arrived there, we are quietly negotiating for another three. I have asked for partial custody of the remote, but we will see how that goes. For his part, he wants two carbs with each meal, which my waistline won’t allow. We have reached an impasse in arbitrations.
    One man who we told about our anniversary said just one word. “Wow.” He didn’t even say it with an exclamation point attached, just “Wow.” I suppose his wow could mean anything from wonder, like the shock and awe kind, to worrying that it could fall apart at any moment.
     Other folks might be offended by his response, but we get it. Let me start with Dave’s side. 
     I am a Type A, where I like things organized and scheduled and planned (and in order and orderly… do you get it?) But I also have a creative mind, where I dream and think aloud and plan for things that frankly, will probably never happen. So, I am a Sybil of sorts to those trying to unwrap me. Dave has managed those (and probably a couple of other personalities) pretty well for all these years.
    And on my side?  I married a coach. I could just stop there, and the coaches wives would all be nodding their heads and waving praise hands fast enough to create a wind that would generate a tidal wave. But others of you need a little more information.
    Coaching is like a side chick, or how I imagine one might be. It requires constant attention, money flowing out of your pockets instead of into them, hard work when you are tired, and lots of time away from your family, all for occasional enjoyable moments. I have learned to relish the time Dave gives his “side chick” and use that time to explore those crazy creative ideas that will never come to fruition. For us, it works, and frankly, “Wow” pretty well summarizes it.
   The last, best, and perhaps favorite response was from a lady who was in the card aisle at the same time as me, as I struggled to pick out a card that conveyed just the right sense of, “No, that beard hair in the sink doesn’t bother me” and “I wish when you grilled pork chops they weren’t so dry” but still said “I love you so much.”
    I had picked up and put down about 20 cards as she and I skirted one another in the aisle. I had already noticed she smelled like the nicest combination of vanilla with a hint of barbecue, truly two of my favorite things.
    I was getting frustrated and was moving on to picking out a birthday card for my beloved brother in law when she handed me a card. I smiled politely and said, “Do I need this one?” 
    And she said, “You were looking for an anniversary card, right?,” to which I nodded. I swear there was a beautiful light around her, but it might be the onset of cataracts for me.
    The card was a muted green, David’s favorite color, and I know this, because we have been married for 20 years and green makes up at least 50% of his wardrobe.
     The sentiment was sweet but not sickeningly so, which I knew he would appreciate, and I know this, because we have been married for 20 years. It also had pretty large print, which means he won’t have to grab his specs to read it, always a bonus.
     What I maybe loved most was that it had plenty of “signing space” for me to pen words of love and gratitude, which likely won’t come to me in that moment, and I know this, because we have been married for 20 years and I could never tell him what he means to me, no matter how big the space.
     I looked up to tell her thank you, and she was gone! Poof!  I convinced myself she was our Anniversary Angel. I wandered around grabbing other essentials, smiling about our angel, and wondering where she had gone.
     That is until I got in line to pay. There she was, in line right in front of me, buying a home decorating magazine, a package of Rolos, pork rinds, and Busch Light beer. That’s when I knew for sure she was our personal messenger, sent just as a reminder for our perfect anniversary celebration.
     Happy 20th Anniversary, David.  Let’s go ahead and aim for three more and see how it goes.