Volitional Valentines

My first marriage was lovely but didn’t last long. Danny and I were two, and our parents oooohed and cooooed and kvelled and took photos of us all dressed up.

Marriage number two, to Jeffrey at age seven, similarly didn’t last long. The best part was the “honeymoon” which meant that the taxi driver, in this case it was my best friend Angelika, who only a moment before had played the part of the preacher and pronounced Jeffrey and me "man and wife," had to give us a ride on the chaise lounge, from the top of Jeffrey’s yard, all the way down to the peach tree at the bottom of his yard. 

We walked back up, dragging the chaise, and switched costumes. Jeffrey was next to be the preacher and taxi driver. Angelika and I got married. That was the shortest marriage of all, simply because Jeffrey could run faster than any of the others of us. So technically, my marriage to Angelika doesn't count. Also, unfortunately, during that time in the 1950's same sex unions were not recognized.

Third time’s a charm.

Meeting Mark in January, 1972, and marrying the man four months later in April has turned out to be the best marriage of them all. They said it wouldn’t last because of the short courtship, but here we are nearly forty-three years later, still stopping to smooch while making salad side by side. It was the best two dollars I ever spent - for the marriage license.

As Fats Waller sings: “If this isn’t love, it’ll have to do, until the real thing comes along.”

Hoping your heart is happy all year, never mind the Hallmark Blitz on February 14th!