Anniversaries!

My sister and her husband have been married for 28 years.  Almost three decades ago, in Orangeburg, NY they were betrothed while accompanied by a symphony of childish giggles from some friends of my parents.  Who were stoned.  Not my parents - their friends.  Which I find very interesting as this couple, both in their nineties, have outlived all of the friends from that suburban enclave.  Maybe Colorado has it right after all.  Cannabis may be the long lost key to longevity.  A smoky fountain of youth.  But I digress.

That my sister and her husband have outlasted me and our brother in term of years married is kind of miraculous!  I think my brother's first marriage, which produced four children, was about 16 or 18 years in length. His second go-round has been 23 years.  In total he was married longer than my sister, but two against one is not fair.  Right Mom?  My own marriage lasted almost 24, and we had three offspring.  Just six weeks and one year shy of a silver celebration.  Oh well, my hair is silver now and I can celebrate that.

I don't know the details or the secret to Amy and Ted staying put.  But I do know that I couldn't do it and neither could my brother the first time around.  I've read that half of all I Do's in the US end in I Don'ts.  As a divorced person myself I never shame people who are going through this very personal decision.  We never know what happened behind closed doors and expressing disappointment in people when I've had the same painful life experience is not only hypocritical, but cruel.

Instead -I choose to celebrate my sister and her hubby and all the long married friends of mine who managed to find the formula, the magic to wedded bliss.  And for anyone whose marriage ended, like my own, I hope you find peace in your journey.

This morning I was perusing some old scribbles and found this.  Along with my sister's anniversary it served as the inspiration to today's writing.


Taormina - my honeymoon, post one year of marriage.  The hotel lobby was actually the top floor as it was built into a cliffside on the Island of Sicily.  The pools were gorgeous; endless rimming to the sea.  I gleefully took off my bikini top and sunbathed while my husband gazed upon what I now regard as my formerly firm, youthful breasts.  

There was an elevator accessed through a vertical tunnel to bring us oceanside, and we devilishly made love in the darkness of daylight.  Oh!  To be young and uninhibited.  No forethought of hardships to come.

Just a blue Mediterranean sea and sky, expresso, and bread with butter so yellow it tasted like the sun.  Scooter rides on the coast of Sicily...

I loved that man and that place at that time with all of my being.  But I have never been able to return to any of them, geographically or otherwise.

Time to Write,

Jane