38 Years

Yesterday we observed our 38th anniversary. Ken bought me black pearls. A 72-inch strand of black pearls purchased from the neighborhood jewelers from a catalogue they seldom ordered from.
The jewelry lady was impressed that the pearls at that price looked this good. They do. I appreciated the story about how impressed she was that you could get 72-inches of black pearls at "that price'' because we'd agreed, or I had stated, that we weren't getting any presents for each other.
A card would do.
And it would have.
But it's 38 years. Thirty-eight years. This summer has felt 38 years long.
So last night we packed Ken's walker into the car and made it to the 7 p.m. showing of 500 Days of Summer. We had movie theater popcorn for dinner. Perfect. And we watched this very clever movie about love. Unrequited love. (You learn that from the outset so it's not a spoiler.)
One of the lead's friends has known Robin, his girlfriend of years, since they were in elementary school. There's a line he says, which I can't recreate, that describes the girl of his dreams. She has fuller breasts, likes sports more and something else. But that in the end Robin is better b/c that's who he loves.
Ken and I met in 2nd grade. It's a tale I have told at a lot of dinner parties. I offered him a quarter to draw me a squirrel. He had sketched an amazing pencil squirrel. Very detailed and perfect, especially for a second grader. And a quarter was a high price given the times and that I didn't have an allowance. It was my ice cream money. He refused. One of what would be only a handful of times he would refuse my request. But he was smitten with Patsy Crarey at the time and couldn't be bothered.
But we were in second grade together. We had Miss Kraner, a first-year teacher whose classroom was completely out of control. Ken and I dated in our sophomore year of high school, but I didn't really like him. Then we began dating in earnest our senior year. I had to really work hard to woe him. I walked him home after school -- something you did in Kokomo, IN, in 1966 when only about a dozen kids in high school had their own cars. We were not among those.
We journeyed down memory lane last night. Not back to second grade but to our wedding day. I'm in contact with all but one of my four bridesmaids. Amazing really. Ken is in contact with two of his. We wondered at his choice of groomsmen. We remembered who he'd asked to be ushers. That Melissa Moore and Beth Shagley had served cake, a disaster because they thought they had to dissemble the tiered cake to cut it. We remembered the Phi Delt fraternity brothers who'd come and who had seranaded me when we returned to my parents' home for an after-reception reception where we could serve wine and beer since you couldn't do that at the First Presbyterian Church where we'd had the reception in the fellowship hall. That Ron and Sandra had been there. Sandra in black pants, a first for a Kokomo wedding and something probably still rememberd in some circles. Our children's godparents and such a fixture in our lives now and then merely wedding guests.
And I thought that then both of our fathers had been alive and my grandmothers and great-grandmother. And that these souls -- Amanda and Lucas -- who would enter our lives three and seven years later and transform them -- were not even in our imagination.