Most people celebrate the longest day of the year on June 21.
My parents have been celebrating their wedding anniversary on June 21 for 50 years.
Yesterday, my sister and I and our families celebrated with them by walking around the Minneapolis sculpture garden (we questioned the thinking of some of the modern artists), going to a Twins baseball game (they won) and eating copious amounts of pasta at an Italian restaurant (it was delicious — and loads cheaper than the fare at Target Field). It was delightful.
Fifty years of marriage certainly is worth celebrating.
Fifty years ago, the Beatles’ “Hey Jude” wasn’t even an idea yet, let alone a hit song. The MacIntosh personal computer may have been an idea, but it was decades away from becoming reality. The pomegranate was a rare fruit in the Middle East, not the basis for a trendy, good-for-you juice. My dad remembered he could bring Mom and a dollar to dinner at the first McDonald’s in the Twin Cities and come home with full bellies and 12 cents in his pocket.
A lot has changed in 50 years, but summer comes every year, and Mom and Dad are still together. In fact, in my mind they’re barely mutually exclusive; they’re “Mom-and-Dad” in all things. Are Mom and Dad coming? What did Mom and Dad say? How is Mom and Dad’s house/camper/garden?
As I pondered the weekend while mowing my lawn this afternoon, I came to the conclusion that to decide to marry is a decision made when everything in a relationship is going right. To decide to stay married is made every time something goes wrong. That’s commitment.
And my parents have it. It’s awesome.
“For me, optimism is two lovers walking into the sunset arm in arm. Or Maybe into the sunrise — whatever appeals to you.”
~ Krzysztof Kieslowski