After doing some preliminary furniture shopping with a girlfriend, I’d narrowed it down to a few possible living room sets which meant I had to bring the husband in for final approval.
As you may have guessed…. it did not go well.
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This couch wasn’t deep enough.
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This couch’s arms were too hard.
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I thought I had a winner here…
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There was an entire wall of fabric for me to choose from and miracle of all miracles?
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Some of it was green.
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But the husband burst my bubble of glee when, like Goldilocks…. he declared the cushions too soft.
Before I get down and dirty with all the things we saw at the Fryeburg Fair let me point out a few things we didn’t see.
We didn’t see the agricultural expo or the natural resources building ….
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Because my husband met a man who knew our farming neighbor and had to talk to him for 37 minutes.
We didn’t see the craft show or tour the fiber arts building…
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Because my husband struck up a 24 minute conversation with this nice volunteer who was rebuilding the motor on a vintage harrow.
And we didn’t see the rabbits, goats, llamas or chickens….
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Because my husband met a fellow Marine who was stationed in Beirut, Lebanon during the same awful time. It was the ‘83 bombing that killed 241 servicemen, the largest loss of Marines in a single day since the Battle of Iwo Jima. This was a sad conversation and one I didn’t interrupt… but still.
54 years ago this week my husband drove to upstate New York for a concert.
But not just any concert, no.
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He went to the greatest single musical event in rock and roll history. And since my husband is my husband, he took a look around, breathed in the heavily herbed air, didn’t like what he saw… and left.
Woodstock.
My husband went to Woodstock… and left.
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He didn’t see the Dead, Santana, or CSN.
He didn’t see Hendrix or Joplin or CCR.
I still can’t wrap my mind around it. And I swear if I had known this before we married it might have been a deal breaker.
The contractor set up a tent to beat the heat of the baking sun.
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He started work on the framing.
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And then my husband went out to talk.
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And talk, and talk, and talk.
At the $55 an hour we’re paying this guy, I could do with a little more work and a lot less talk so I hauled the husband inside and got him busy organizing some of his old magazines and newspapers.
Bad idea. Very bad.
Because as soon as he found some interesting ones?
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He took them out to show the contractor.
And then he talked, and talked, and talked.
Jesus wept…we’ll have to remortgage the house before this is through.
And if Jesus weeping wasn’t bad enough?
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The heavens decided to weep that afternoon as well.
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Torrential rain, heavy downpours and big mud puddles.
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Left us with very little progress.
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But there is a great big tool trailer parked on the lawn.
One afternoon, when the temperature was near 90 and the humidity level was almost as high, my husband decided it would be a good time to start ripping up the old deck. You know, the one we hired a contractor to rip up and rebuild.
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It was hard, heavy, hot work. Which is why we’re paying someone else to do it.
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An hour or so into the demolition, said contractor showed up…
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And was a little surprised the husband had already started the project for which we’d hired him.
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But they worked side by side, in the heat…
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Because no one told him husbands who are bored with retirement need to keep busy.
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In less than three hours…
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All the rotted old wood planks had been ripped up…
We’d been given a gift card for the Broad Arrow Tavern which is located inside the Harraseeket Inn in Freeport.
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We’ve been many times before, some with good results, some with bad. It’s a lovely old place…
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But on this day, shortly after new corporate owners had taken over operations… we found it lacking.
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One admittedly decent cranberry margarita in, the husband decided the new menu was too small and contained nothing to satisfy his appetite so we headed down the road.
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To the oh so pricey but usually delightful Tuscan Bistro…. where we always sit at the bar because the husband likes to chat with someone other than me.
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I started with the strawberry sangria…
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And a few tasty crab cakes.
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Husband opted for Allagash White and savory meatballs.
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Passion fruit lemon drop martini was up next… which was when I noticed a strange bottle behind the bar.
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Dough ball? You know I had to ask.
The bartender said it was a cookie dough flavored whisky which sounded horrible, and after a sniff of the bottle I discovered it was just that. At this point the man sitting next to me said, “I used to be a dough ball in high school, maybe I should try it.” I laughed and as often happens at watering holes… we spent the next hour talking to him and his girlfriend. They were a lovely couple and I enjoyed the casual chatter while we ate.
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A grilled chicken risotto with asparagus for me, which looked good but wasn’t.
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And a glazed salmon with fingerling potatoes and garlic green beans for the husband, which didn’t look good but was.
I wasn’t going to order dessert… but it was shortly after we finished our meals that our new bar buddies noticed hubby’s USMC hat and the conversation turned to the military.
It was then I knew all was lost.
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I ate my Tiramisu by myself as the man sitting next to me discovered his father (who lives in Florida) had served in the same place at the same time as my husband. While my guy was Force Recon in Quang Tri and Dong Ha, his father was a 46 pilot ferrying Marines in and out of the area. This lead to a rather long telephone call between the two Vietnam vets…. with me twiddling my thumbs at the bar alone after the couple moved on to greener pastures. It also found me silently cursing the Marine Corps hat that in one way or another always leads to this scenario.
If you’re a long time reader you know my husband and I met and married in six days. He was on leave from the Marine Corps and came home to be with his family at Christmas. It was a hard time for him as the Beirut bombing was a few months before and he was deployed to the area at the time. On that horrible day he volunteered to help with the rescue efforts after a 12 hour night shift and no sleep. He took 5 bodies out of that building… some whole, some in pieces.
I’m sure all he wanted at that point was rest and relaxation. What he got was a wife.
We met. We fell in love. We got married six days later. And to be honest we would have done it sooner but we had to wait 2 days for the license.
Everyone thought we were crazy.
Some thought I was pregnant… which was even crazier.
But 39 years later here we are.
Our wedding took place at a Justice of the Peace office during a raging N’Or East blizzard. We were staying with his mother on the Island at the time and had to take a boat to the mainland in the storm. I wore a pink cashmere sweater and dove grey slacks with high heeled boots. There was no dress, no cake, no reception, no gifts. We had 3 witnesses. My mother, his mother and his step father. There was a champagne brunch at a lovely waterfront restaurant… period. We had to leave the next day and drive to North Carolina so he could report back to base.
I was never one of those young girls who dreamt of big fancy weddings. I’ve been to many of them that cost more than our first home, and you know what? Every single one of those couples is divorced. For me, the ceremony isn’t the important part. It’s the love and commitment that mean something.
We may not have an engraved sterling silver turkey baster or a drunken video of Uncle Ted giving a toast….. but we’re still in love and still happily married almost four decades later.
I’d say that’s a fair trade.
How about you…
What would you change about your wedding?
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