Fifty Years and Counting...

This weekend my great Auntie Blossom and Uncle Harry celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary. Family and close friends gathered around in my cousin's living room as they renewed vows in a traditional Jewish ceremony. Amid the soft glow of candles and twinkle of champagne glasses, everyone laughed, cried, and shared stories to honor their example, the tremendous gift of their enduring love and commitment.

After the service, I whispered into Uncle Harry's ear, "So, can you tell me the secret to a long, happy marriage? He yelled back, "WHAT?!" I asked the question again, a little louder this time, and he answered matter-of-factly, "Listen to eachother. How else do you know what's going on?" Simple but sound advice. Ironic too. He was asked the same question on their fiftieth wedding anniversary and his response was, "I just ignore her." But that was far from true. It was obvious they we're eachother's best friend.

In the car on the way home, I thought about the significance of the night's event. SIXTY YEARS! Holy matrimony! That is a looooong time, almost twice as long as my entire life! As my cousin Gail said during the ceremony, "Doing ANYTHING consistently for sixty years is impressive, let alone marriage!" I looked over at Honk as he was driving and singing away to some '80's song on the radio. "Well, honey, ten years down! Fifty to go!" I may have been joking, but the whole experience did make me contemplate fifty more years with this guy.

Fifty more years of unsolved mysteries like how a devoted fan to the sport of basketball could be such a bad shot when it comes to throwing his clothes in the hamper. Or how he could seriously believe that surfing is the cure for the common cold and lower back pain. Or how saying "just kidding" two days after the fact does not technically constitute lying.

Fifty more years of wet, potting soil footprints across my kitchen floor. Of his crazy, mismatched "weekend wear". Of his nearly-naked plant watering.

Fifty more years of fearful entrances into dark rooms as he lurks behind a door or under a bed. Of shrieking screams as he dangles dead spiders and trapped mice in my face. Of his pleadings that I look at his open wound or feel his popping knee cap "just one more time".

Fifty more years of watching The Deadliest Catch, Dirty Jobs, and, of course, The Bachelorette. Of sitting through all of his car-racing, jet-flying, and FBI-dodging action movies. Oh, dear Lord, fifty more years of TOP GUN! I don't even want to try to figure out how many times I've endured this dreaded movie over the years, Honk reciting all the lines right along with the characters like a dubbed-in karate movie. An exhausting experience for my gag reflex. All the self control I can muster barely keeps me from hurling a lamp at the television when that flight suit appears on the screen and Maverick says, "That's right, Ice man. I am dangerous."

But there's also this...

Fifty more years of backyard barbequing to the tunes of Jack Johnson. Of dinners and great conversations at our favorite restaurants. Of sunset walks, beach bike rides, and long drives down the coast.

Fifty more years of his legendary "booty dance" at wedding receptions. Of inside jokes confirmed with a look and a smile. Of witty one-liners that bring me to laughing tears.

Fifty more years of watching my children's faces light up at the sight of him. Of Saturday morning Donut Dates with Daddy. Of security knowing they'll never question his love.

Fifty more years of fitting perfectly into his hug. Of his knowing just what to say when I'm sad. Of a devoted family man and loving husband. Of a best friend.

Yeah, I think I'll keep him. It's safe to say that I agree with the great Lewis of the 1980's, Mr. Huey Lewis, when he sang, "Yes, it's true. I'm so happy to be stuck with you."