60 years

My parents joined their lives sixty years ago today: May 20, 1950.

They were thin and youthful, though my mom's father had warned her she was "waiting awfully late" to marry. (She was 24, my dad 25.)

My dad graduated from college and served in the Army.

My mother couldn't afford to complete college,

though she desperately wanted to.

She worked for a time at the "weather bureau" in Memphis, Tennessee.

She communicated by phone with the airport and newspapers.

My parents tried to make a go of farming because that was what my father knew and loved, but it didn't earn a decent living.

There are now four children, eleven grandchildren

and one great-grandchild from my parents' union.

Unfortunately, cancer took my mom

before even the first grandchild came along.

My dad remarried a lovely woman, Sally,

and they have been married for 28 years: almost the same

length of time my parents were married. 

Mom once told me that if she died first,

she hoped my dad could find happiness with someone else.

I think that was a wise thing for her to share:

it was as much about my siblings and me

as about my dad.
When I married Bill, my dad told me that marriage is never 50/50 effort.
Sometimes it ends up 90/10 or 60/40.
But the goal should be 100/100.
That said, there's a load of effort for those who make it 60 years.
And love. And commitment. And blessings.

Note: my maternal grandmother, second from the right in
this photo, was 52 years old at the time, three years younger than I am now! And holy cow, I just realized my dad's mother, left, was MY AGE.