DO I HAVE A PROBLEM???

            I had a few days last week taking tours down memory lane. It was fun and the memories great. It served to remind me just what a special young man John was as well as what a great relationship we had at the beginning. Unfortunately, visits like those still require me to return home eventually, return to my real life and feelings for today. 

          I’m wondering if I may have a drinking problem. For most of my life, I avoided alcohol because alcoholics are rampant on both sides of the family. Well, maybe not on my biological father’s side of the family, so that gives me hope. Anyway, a year or two before John died, I began to have a spot of gin with a garlic stuffed olive and a bit of olive water…a dirty martini if you will at 5:00 pm each day. I never got wasted and only had one each afternoon. I could still cook dinner and do whatever needed doing the rest of the evening. n.b. They're now calling these quarantinis on Facebook.

          This became a habit, one I looked forward to each and every day and more so once John died. I watch the clock and wait for it to read 5:00 pm…no drinking before that. Then, I fix my glass and sit down to enjoy, and enjoy I always do. I think perhaps the amount of gin may have increased since John died. I don’t have to make dinner if I don’t want to, or do anything else besides lock the chicken up and water the dogs before I go to bed. My glass isn’t any bigger and I don’t think it’s any fuller, but my reaction seems to have become much stronger.

          The reason I think I may have a problem as well as having increased my gin allotment is that I usually zone out (pass out?) for a while on the couch with the doggies. I don’t spend the entire night, but I find myself not remembering the program, or parts of the program, I was watching on television. I don’t spend hours like that, but while it doesn't happen every night, it seems to have become a more frequent occurrence. Of course, if I had someone to talk to other than the dogs, I’m sure I would be more alert and with it. I know if I get a phone call, I’m perfectly capable of carrying on a conversation without slurring my words or sounding as though I’m drunk.

          Unfortunately, I don’t want to admit or really think my daily gin imbibing is a problem. You see, I like the way the gin takes the edge off the evening. I don’t feel quite so lonely. I don’t feel quite so depressed. I don’t feel quite so alone because all my feelings and thoughts are dimmed and vague. I like that…a lot.

          There are days where I don’t watch the clock or have a drink. I’m doing other stuff or have met family or friends for dinner. Because of those times, I don’t believe I have a serious problem. I don’t come home and hit the gin bottle afterward. Since I am almost always the designated driver, I also don’t have more than one glass of wine or drink if I have anything at all. I’m cheap and hate paying the big bucks for something I can purchase more cheaply by the bottle.

          What brought this all up was Tuesday night and Wednesday morning of last week. According to my Fitbit, I went to bed at 7:33 pm and slept deeply for two hours and 12 minutes. I woke up at 12:30 and watched television from my bed for 1.5 hours before going back to sleep. Then, I woke up at 7:10 am. When I woke up, I felt sad and depressed and really didn’t want to get up. But the dogs really needed to go out after almost 12 hours in their crates.

          I wasn’t walking Wednesday morning with my neighbor, but had to be at the dentist by 10:00 am. So, the doggies and I snuggled while I had my coffee and cereal and watched part of Good Morning America before turning the channel to Law and Order. I sat there until 9:00 am when I absolutely had to get in the shower. At the dentist, lying back in the chair, my eyes suddenly filled with tears. I managed to control them so no one noticed, but I was inexplicably so very sad.

          So, is it the gin that’s making me this way? Or, is it just the grieving process? I know when my daddy died it was in November. I held it together, didn’t cry or carry on until the following June. Then, it was like a damn burst and I cried and cried and yelled and yelled and was practically inconsolable. Is the gin keeping that grieving action away or not? Or, is this grieving process different since it’s for a husband and not a daddy?

          With the days getting longer and the weather nicer, I know I won’t be watching the clock because I’ll be outside. I suppose if I’m still watching the clock then and continuing to imbibe, or drinking gin at a much later hour, it will be time to reevaluate my gin drinking.

I really have no idea. I don’t think I need to pour out the remaining gin or sign up for AA meetings, but I’m wondering if other widows or widowers have found themselves in this kind of a quandary? Anyone out there have any wisdom to impart…I’m accepting any and all provided.

MY FRIDAY THE 13TH

         No, I didn’t get out and purchase a lottery ticket on Friday the 13^th. I didn’t leave the house at all, not even to go get the mail. I did open the front door to retrieve an Amazon package and a magazine and cookies my wonderful neighbor left for me. But that was it.

          Instead, I accomplished a lot of stuff. The biggest accomplishment was removing all the glass from the garden window by the computer and running it through the dishwasher for the first time in well over a year. While the dishwasher was working, I cleaned the window on the inside. It will be even better once I clean the outside. I even managed to push the desk my strong granddaughter had pulled away from the window back into place once I’d replaced all the clean glass. My goodness how everything now sparkles.

          If that wasn’t enough, I vacuumed the house and did all the laundry. Finally, I fixed myself a scrumptious dinner. I made the first meatloaf I’ve made in probably 50-some years. John didn’t like it. I didn’t use a recipe, just threw in stuff I thought sounded good. Then I cut up a bunch of vegetables and stirred them up with olive oil and balsamic  vinegar before putting them in a covered pan in the oven. It smelled absolutely lovely and tasted wonderful. Therein lies the problem. It tasted so good I had a second helping of both.

At bedtime a few hours later, I still felt a little stuffed, but went to sleep without a problem. I woke a couple of hours later with a tummy that felt as though it held a very large rock. I ate a few Tums and drank some water, but that didn’t seem to help at all. I watched some TV, tried to sleep again, watched some more TV and eventually went to sleep at maybe 4:30 am. 

          When I woke up a few hours later, my tummy felt fine, but so far all I’ve had this morning is a latte. I think I’m starting to feel hungry. I’m not sure about dinner tonight. I figured I’d eat the leftover meatloaf and veggies, but I don’t want another night like last night. I’ll see how my tummy feels at the end of the day.

          I also called the owner of Ginny’s Girls. It’s a company that helps you with your estate or garage sale. She’s going to come on Monday to check things out and talk about helping me with eliminating the majority of the stuff in my house. They do prefer you not be living in the house when they do this, so I don’t know if it will be a possibility. I’m sure I could spend a night or two in my car…ha ha ha. She told me they usually take $1,500 to $2,500 from the first $10,000 and then a percentage of the rest of the sale. Does this sound like a good idea? Has anyone out there dealt with this company? She may not want me as a client and I may not want to be a client. We’ll have to wait and see. 

          In the 51 years I’ve lived here, I believe I have done two, maybe three garage sales. One or two made good money, but the third was a complete bust with a huge pickup load of remainders being donated. Do you, my faithful readers, or new readers for that matter, have any ideas or suggestions with regard to having a company do all the work? Or, do you know anyone that’s worked with a company that performs this kind of service? If you have or know someone who has, I’d love to know the name of the company. I’d also be happy to have the benefit of your knowledge when it comes to successful garage sales if you’d like to share. 

CHOKING...SO SCARY

        Living alone can be pretty scary at times. I was talking to a friend Wednesday night when I swallowed some water…it went down the wrong pipe and I couldn’t breathe. I also couldn’t talk. It was pretty scary for a while there. I dropped the phone and went to the kitchen sink. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to breath again. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to breath. I leaned over the kitchen sink and tried to breath. I made this horrible noise. I was pretty sure I was in the process of dying since I couldn’t get any air into my lungs.

          Fortunately for me, and my friend on the phone, I managed to draw some air into my lungs. Bit by bit, my breathing became easier and I was finally able to respond to my friend’s anxious entreaties. She was ready to hang up, call 911 and send them to my house. I was so grateful to be breathing again, and we had a nice long conversation without any difficulties on my part.

          I have to admit it scared the pee out of me…literally. I had to go and change my clothes after I got off the phone. No matter how hard I tried, it was like my lungs were frozen. I couldn’t get any air past my throat into my lungs. I actually thought I just might die right then and there.

          It’s this kind of thing you don’t really think about when you are living on your own. Every morning I swallow an entire handful of vitamins and pills without thinking about what would happen if they didn’t all go down. Well, now, I’m thinking about that. It’s probably time I separated the pills out into several different groups so I can take them safely without having to worry that I might choke and fall to the floor to be discovered whenever.

          I have a friend who posts every single morning on Facebook. The purpose of her post is to let her friends know that she’s survived the night and is ready for the day. That seems pretty smart to me, although by the time family and friends realize there’s no post, it’s probably far too late.

          There’s an earlier post where I wrote about taking care of myself at home alone. It never occurred to me that I’d need to think about what would happen if I choked. Well, now I’m thinking about it and am going to be much more careful when it comes to drinking and talking simultaneously. I’m also going to take my pills in several batches so none of them get stuck.

          Ah, the things I continue to learn on this new journey. Have any of you widows or widowers had things like this happen? Would you share your experiences and thoughts with me? I’m always on the lookout for new information.

FRIDAY THE 13TH...AND GOD

         Whoa, it’s Friday the 13^th, the first one for this year. The 13^th has always been a lucky number for me. I met John on the 13^th, we got married on the 13^th, our granddaughter was born on the 13^th, and there’s other stuff that’s happened on the 13^th that’s buried somewhere in the filing cabinet of my brain. Those are the important ones that head the list.

          Being superstitious isn’t something that I am. I don’t worry about ladders, black cats, mirrors or anything else that’s supposed to bring you bad luck. I do have to admit that in my youth, whenever it seemed as though something awful was going to happen or was happening, I’d immediately send prayers up to God. I eventually came to believe that those prayers were just another sort of superstition.

          I was raised Southern Baptist, but not the strict kind that didn't allow dancing, makeup or stuff like that. I was sent to Sunday school every Sunday and mom and grandma sometimes went to church services. My dad never went, even on the holy days of Easter and Christmas. My grandma and mom did definitely go those days.

          What I remember most about those Easter services was getting a new Easter outfit. A new dress, shoes, purse and even a hat and gloves. Since I haven’t been to church on Easter in decades, I don’t know if they still do that. The Easter outfit was more important to me than the Easter candy. I sound pretty shallow, don’t I.

          In any case, I was raised to believe that God was good. My crisis of faith came in my late teens. It started with a photo of a child on fire in Viet Nam. This was a small child and I felt so heartbroken by the look on this child’s face. I questioned my parents and eventually the clergy at the church. No one could provide me with a satisfactory answer. If God was good, how could he allow such a small child to suffer so? The answer everyone seemed to fall back on was, “God has his reasons.”

          It was at that point I stopped going to Sunday school or church. With the exception of my own wedding, my eldest son’s wedding and the weddings and funerals of other people, I haven’t been inside a church or attended any services. I know it bothered my mom, but even her entreaties to attend Easter sunrise services couldn’t sway me.

          That’s not to say that when trouble comes, I don’t find myself praying to God, i.e., “Please God, please, please, please….” for whatever it is that I need to have changed for the better.  I also know, even as I’m reciting the words to myself, that if there is going to be any kind of a change, it’s up to me to make it happen. God isn’t going to point his finger and fix whatever it is that’s wrong.

          I do find myself wishing, however, that I hadn’t lost my faith. I know people who attend church, live the kind of lives of which God would approve, and who practice the Golden Rule. To me they seem stronger and more certain about their lives and their afterlives. Their faith and church attendance appear to bring them a lot of comfort as well as comradery with their fellow church members. There’s a sense of brotherhood/sisterhood in those folks.

          I find now that I’m alone, it would be good to belong to such a group. My inclusion wouldn’t be based on my belief in God, but the need for a sense of belonging, a sense of being part of something larger. That’s not to say I’m going to get up on Sunday mornings and start checking out the various churches in my area. It’s just something I think and wonder about now and then.

          What I will do today, though, is take myself to the store to purchase a lottery ticket. After all it is my lucky day and this might be the one time I could win something. I do know that when the Sunday paper comes, before I check the numbers, I may silently be saying, “Please God, please, please, please let me have a winner.” 

          Like I said above, pretty shallow aren’t I?

THE HONEYMOON, PART II

         What a wonderful place Acapulco was to honeymoon. We had some terrific adventures and saw some things I’ve never forgotten. We also learned the hard way that not drinking the water wouldn’t keep Montezuma’s Revenge away if you also ate salad and used ice cubes. So young and stupid were we.

          Our first order of business was to get me a bathing suit. Oh, me of little faith, I didn’t pack the one I had. I also didn’t expect John to go swimming because of the smaller left calf his bout with polio had given him. He was very sensitive about that. He brought a pair of cut-off pants he used for swimming.

John figured out how we could take the bus from out cottage into downtown. So, we did. We wandered around and found a place that made swimming suits. We went in, they measured me and we waited…can you imagine that? In no time, I tried on a two-piece bathing suit, one that would have been just a trifle too sexy for Seattle. It was a red and yellow print. The top was an actual bra with underwires…this wouldn’t come to Seattle for ages. The bottom was more of a brief than a bikini, but I still felt a bit overexposed.

          On the way back to our lodging, we began to notice some things. First, it was a building of several floors that was being taken down by hand. John talked to someone and the reason for all this hard work was the rebar in the concrete. John told me that because Mexico was a poor country, rebar was expensive. It was cheaper to save the old to use in a new project.

          We saw other evidence of a poor populace. It’s very warm there and we began to notice these little hovels in the bushes alongside the road. I was aghast that people, entire families, were living in these thrown together shacks. No electricity. No running water. Some were built of all kinds of odd-sized pieces of wood. Others had pieces of tin or metal that had been hammered flat.

          John found out there was to be a bullfight. I think it was on the weekend, but I cannot really remember. He got tickets and we went to what had to have been the most horrifying show I’d ever seen once an adjacent attendee told us how it worked. The bull is kept in the dark and not given any food or water. When he’s let out into the arena, he can barely see because it’s so bright and he’s weak. It was the picadors on horseback that inserted the knives into the bull’s neck while the matador waved his cape around. Once it was pointed out, I could see the blood rolling down the bull’s neck and side. Eventually the bull becomes so weak, the matador or a picador kills it with a final knife thrust to the neck. The only saving grace about this whole thing is that our knowledgeable attendee said the bull would be butchered and its remains given to the poor.

          As I mentioned above, we were foolish enough to eat salad and ask for ice cubes. As a result, we became quite familiar with one another’s bathroom needs. Whoever had the room key had best have it handy if the other became in immediate need…and I mean IMMEDIATE. If I had it, John grabbed it and away he went and vice versa. No discussion before or after unless one of us said, “made it, thank God.” Any embarrassment we felt at the beginning of this experience soon evaporated because it was a daily, and often more than once, need.

          I also had the best Coke I’ve ever had in my entire life there. We were out walking and it was hot. We went into some little shop and John bought two cokes. We took them outside before we opened them. Once opened, the entire contents turned into a 7-11 Slurpee…it became filled with little pieces of ice. It was so cold and good and refreshing. I’ve tried to duplicate that Coke at home, but never managed to do so.

          Ah, the water. I simply cannot say enough about the clarity or warmth of the Pacific Ocean in Acapulco. We spent a lot of time in the water and it was fun. Toward the end of our stay, we decided we’d swim out to the raft in the middle of the bay. Now, neither of us could swim all that well, so we decided we’d swim alongside the big rope that keep the raft in place. I don’t remember how long it took us to get there and back, but John’s back and shoulders were baked to a hot and sore doneness.

          I’d also developed a problem. Somehow mosquitos were getting into our cottage. The windows were all screened, but every morning I had new bites that itched like the devil. The day before we were to leave, we realized there was a chimney in the bathroom that you couldn’t see unless you stood on the toilet that allowed for fresh air and it wasn’t screened. With one more night to sleep there, I counted 45 mosquito bites just on my left leg. The rest of my body was covered. One good outcome of this experience is that mosquitos never bit me again. I do get maybe one or two the last couple of years, but I enjoy scratching them a lot.

          So, for the last few nights, we made use of both the twin beds. John didn’t want me to touch his back because it was so sore. I didn’t want him to touch almost any part of me because I itched so bad.

          Back in Mexico City, we stayed in the same wonderful hotel except this time we had a double or king-sized bed. We were there only for the night, but once again John tried to figure out how he could steal our room key. It would have made a nice wall mounted piece of art.

          I’ve looked back at the photo album and found very few actual pictures. Most are in black and white and we are very small. I also tried to find the name of the hotels, but after 53 years, I’m sure they’ve either been rebuilt or renamed. So, no photos today.

          Amazingly (to me), once we got back to Tijuana, our car was still there with all four tires and an engine. We got in and headed for the United States. Barely across the border, we stopped for gas. Also, back then, the gas station attendants checked everything. This one raised the hood and afterward said, “You guys must be newlyweds.” I was surprised because I was sure our “newness” had to have worn off. I asked how he could tell and he responded the engine compartment was filled with rice. John’s buddies apparently hadn’t missed anything when it came to decorating the car.

          Our next stop was a hamburger place. Again, I’ve never tasted anything quite as good as that hamburger, French fries and milkshake. That was our last indulgence because we were getting low on money. Yes, we still had a gas card to get us home, but actual funds were in short supply.

          That’s when John decided I needed to do some of the driving. He didn’t like the way I drove…he was a professional, after all…so, he critiqued everything I did. I actually didn’t mind because I wanted to be a good driver, plus, it came in handy when Haley and I went to Glacier National Park a couple years ago. I was able to teach her about passing, curves, etc., just like her grandpa had taught me.

          Back home by Sunday, family and friends came to our apartment to watch us open our gifts. It was such fun taking turns and oohing and aahing over the various items we received. When it was time to do thank-you notes, John even helped with those.

          Then, it was on to our real married life. We didn’t stay long in that apartment. The couple that introduced us told us about a house in Ballard just a door or so away from theirs. I’ve some good stories and funny memories of then I’ll share as well as I continue to make these posts.

THE HONEYMOON, PART I

         We drive away from my aunt’s home and head for the freeway. I’m so tired, I would have been happy to go back to our apartment for the night, but John had the bit between his teeth. Besides all the rice and shaving cream or whatever they put on our car, we should have had a sign, “PORTLAND OR BUST.”

          It seemed to take forever to get to Portland, but finally, John pulled off and registered us for the first time as man and wife at some hotel just off the freeway. At the room, he opened the door, picked me up and carried me across the threshold. He didn’t set me down until he was in front of the phone.

          “Call your aunt, right now!!!”

          Thankfully, there was information back then because I didn’t have a phone number. I got the number and asked the operator to make the call for me. It took a number of rings before someone answered and I asked for my aunt.

          “We’re here in Portland.”

          “How do I know you’re in Portland?” she responded sleepily.

          “Wait until you get the bill. I called collect. Good night.” and I hung up.

          Then it was into the bathroom to get ready for bed. I came out in my brand new sexy nighty. John was already in bed and almost asleep, but we did the “deed,” and I have to say it was probably not the best time we ever had together. Still, you can’t just go to sleep on your wedding night…right?

          The next morning, we had breakfast and headed down I-5. We had talked about where we wanted to go for our honeymoon. We both loved the idea of Hongkong, but that was way more expensive than we could afford. John decided on Mexico and we got the visas we needed to enter the country.

          Since John drove truck for a living, he did the driving. I talked to him, looked out the window and read my book. When we got to Tijuana, he found the airport and went inside. I stayed in the car until he came back and said, “Come on, let’s go. The plane leaves in an hour.”

          Well, something else that’s changed for the better is how you can dress these days. I was in shorts and a shirt. You didn’t go anywhere in public like that. I had to go into the restroom, get into my suitcase and change. Before I knew it, we were on board the plane headed for Mexico City. I do have to say I still remember the meal we were served on the plane…the best plane food I’ve ever had.

          In Mexico City, John found a cab only to learn the driver didn’t speak any English. I sat in the back seat almost in tears, imagining us in some park surrounded by our luggage. Instead, our cab driver found another one who did speak English and he translated for us. As a result we were taken to this huge, old hotel in downtown. There was a park across the street and the room keys were metal and huge. John really wanted to keep that key, but it simply wasn’t possible.

          The next morning while I got ready, John went and talked to the concierge. This gentleman took us down the street and helped us rent a convertible. He also made plane reservations to and from Acapulco and back to Tijuana. We followed him down the street and for a short guy, he was fast. By the time we got to the car rental place I could barely breath. I’d forgotten how high Mexico City was.

          We drove all around the city and look at the sights. We saw the new housing that was built for people who lived there. The Olympics were coming in a couple of years. The new housing was long rows of concrete blocks with a door in the center and a window on either side. Each family got to paint their blocks whatever color they’d like.

          When it was time to head to the airport, we could see and hear it, but we couldn’t find the road that would let us in. Fortunately, we came to a stop light and John talked to the people in the adjacent car. They explained what he needed to do to get into the airport.

          I don’t remember much about that flight. I do remember stepping out of the plane and my first experience with really high humidity. It was like walking into a wall and I could barely breath. No problems like those in Mexico City. John got us a cab and we were taken to this lovely hotel. It was a series of cottages or cabanas, each with its own entrance. And, as in Mexico City, it had twin beds. I still laugh about that. It didn’t really matter to us because we were both a lot smaller than we eventually became, so a twin bed for two wasn’t a problem…at least until later in the honeymoon when we used both of them.

          Are you getting the idea that John was ever so much more adventurous in his youth. I’m sure some of our friends and family who knew him in his later life wouldn’t have recognized him. Anyway, our honeymoon adventure had just begun. I’ve lots more memories to share as this week progresses. It was a wonderfully happy time and looking back at it makes me smile a lot…just wish I’d had a digital camera back then.

WE'RE MARRIED!!!

         As I posted yesterday, we were engaged. The wedding planning began. John wanted a nice wedding for his mother, Pearl, because his sisters ran away to get married (to get away from Pearl I was to later learn). John lived with his mom and she had suffered a mastectomy the previous year. It was obvious John was very close to and very caring when it came to Pearl. I thought this was a wonderful relationship in the beginning. What woman wouldn’t come to love a man who revered and loved his mom…usually it bodes well for the relationship.

          I reveled in planning our wedding and sought John’s opinions about anything I thought would be of interest to him. My mom and girlfriends helped me find a dress, although it didn’t turn out to be the dress I wore when I married John. The store called me at the last minute to say my dress wouldn’t arrive in time. So, they gave me the pick of what was in the store in my size at a discounted price. I liked that dress even better than the one I originally picked…it was more tailored and suited to my style.

          My daddy was a baker and he took a two-week vacation the beginning of August. He and mom went off and had a week’s vacation out of town. On his return, he borrowed space in his first boss’ shop and made my wedding cake. It was beautiful and extra special because daddy made it just for me. The only other thing my parents paid for were the flowers. I paid for everything else.

          Of course, way back then, people getting married didn’t have huge expensive parties. You got married in the church with the reception in the church basement after. You served tea, coffee, punch, nuts, mints and wedding cake. So, the cost was not huge.

          The church we got married in had a beautiful walkway leading from the doors. I think that’s why we chose it as neither of us attended church or had a reverend to perform the ceremony. Perfect for a bride and groom to dash down through a hail of rice to their car. We paid to use the church and the reverend counselled us for a month before the wedding. We were definitely prepared, or so I thought.

          I think it was June when John confessed he had cold feet and didn’t want to get married. We had a long talk and I told him if we weren’t getting married, then our relationship would be over. By then, he was pretty much living with me in my apartment. His mother had moved some woman into his bedroom and he’d been shunted downstairs to the furnace area…icy cold and more of a crawl space than a basement. John either wanted me or he didn’t. I was so relieved when he decided he wanted me and marriage after all.

          So, the invitations went out and my excitement grew. At the beginning of August, Pearl asked John for the mortgage payment. He’d been paying all her bills for over a year because she had exhausted her savings, sick leave, etc. That was not what John’s sister said however. She said Pearl had plenty of money, but it was a way to control John                                                                                             . In any case, he told Pearl he didn’t have the money because he’d paid the rent on our apartment for August. I could tell he felt bad and was uncomfortable about not being able to help his mom.

          Perhaps Pearl’s way of getting back at John was to leave town with her boyfriend at the time and her granddaughter. She wasn’t sure she’d be back in time for the wedding. She did return in time, however, with beautiful gifts of milk glass, all of which I still have. I believe her boyfriend paid for the gifts. I was glad she returned in time because John wanted the wedding for her. And, when the photographs were circulated, she chose an 8 x 10 of us heading down the aisle. I’m looking straight ahead and John is looking at her.

          We decided we’d have a big party after the wedding rehearsal and invite the wedding party and all our friends. We supplied food and a keg of beer and I almost lost my groom before he became a husband. He was pumping up the keg and something wasn’t quite right. The spigot (or whatever you call it) flew out of the keg with such force it buried itself in the ceiling. If John’s head had been over it, it might have gone right through it or severely injured him. Of course, we were all immortal at that time and just laughed like crazy people.

          The next day was our wedding day. I went off with some of my wedding party to get our hair done. We had decided we’d have the wedding photographs taken before the wedding so we could head out from the reception to our honeymoon. I got there in plenty of time. My maid of honor and my bridesmaids and I all got ready and I managed not to cry. I have a wonderful picture of myself with my dad. He’s in his tux and holding his wallet open as if to show he was completely broke. What made me laugh was the fact it was full of money. I also have a photo of the two of us as we head down the aisle.

          John’s best man became quite irritated with him late that afternoon. They were all dressed and ready to go and stopped at this bar not far from the church to have a little “courage.” I don’t know how many drinks John had, but his best man  was getting desperate to get him out of there when they finally moved on to the church.

          John couldn't have been serious about not showing up for the wedding because when he arrived, he had a gift for me. It was a strand of real pearls. He'd heard me say at some point in time that it would be wonderful to own real pearls. So, he visited Rivkin's Jewelers before the wedding and purchased the pearls you see around my neck in the wedding photos. That's when I gave him the tie-tac made from the rose in my wrist watch and cuff links to match. He couldn't wear them for the wedding, but he did wear them whenever he wore a shirt with French cuffs.

          We had photographs taken and for a few of them, it was very hard to look as serious as the photographer wanted me to look. He couldn’t see John’s right hand, which was behind me, caressing or patting me on the bottom. Naughty naughty boy. Photographs were very expansive back then as well, so I think I only have about a dozen. And, no one ever brought their own camera to the church or reception, so there aren’t even any snapshots. I treasure the ones I do have.

          Finally, we’re married and after the expected kiss, we headed down the aisle and down to the church basement for the reception. We stood in line and greeted our family and friends, then cut the wedding cake. I changed into the hot pink suit I’d purchased to wear as we left the church. But, we weren’t done quite yet. My one aunt was horrified we didn’t have a camera. She would loan us hers if we could stop by her house. She was also hosting a little family get together once they left the church.

          We drove to my aunt’s house in Ballard and once there my other aunt began giving us a hard time about just how soon we were going to consummate our marriage. I don’t think she knew we were already living together. In any case, her many teasing comments annoyed the hell out of John. He told her we were driving to Portland Oregon that night and we’d call when we got there.

          Next up…our honeymoon!!!