Grandpa Nelson and I got married 44 years ago, on the Winter Solstice in 1974. We had been dating almost four years, and I had graduated high school just six months earlier. We were on winter break from the California State University at Long Beach.
The wedding was at the church I had gone to as a child, and the reception was at Great Grandma Billie’s house in Manhattan Beach. The caterer was her best friend, Millie Meyer, who ran a sandwich shop and owned a meat slicer. We acted very grown up.
When you get married at 18, acting grown up feels important.
Here in Portland yesterday, I walked the mile down to Auntie Katie’s house. She is suffering from a cold and needed a little help. I took the makings of chicken soup, got it going, did some dishes, gave Katie her lunch, and went to the market for groceries. Then I walked home and helped Auntie Bridgett clean the house.
I AM the grown up now, so pretending I am one is less important.
So, for our big anniversary celebration this evening, we will walk down to Bread and Ink for dinner and then over to the Bagdad Theater to watch the new Mary Poppins movie. The child in me will delight in Disney joy while appreciating the man who married me all those years ago, when we were so young our friends gave us giant candles and houseplants for wedding gifts because they were kids, too.