Fifty years as a circus, and still fun
I’m going to be a bit brief, this week. I have things on my mind other than news of the world, news of local politics, and things designed expressly to annoy me. Everybody seems in fine health -- no more unusual dizzy spells for anybody, all surgeries have been successful or are put off as unnecessary right now, and therefore, all’s right with the world.
In other words, I’m in too good a mood, right now, to concentrate on anything other than one major family event.
As of this coming Sunday, the 24th of June, 2007, my parents will have been married for fifty years -- half a century. I don’t know what that is in dog years. All I know is, I won’t live long enough to repeat their feat. From what I’ve seen, it’s rare enough among those who marry while young, so, considering I’m already well-past my fortieth birthday, if I were to manage this, it would be a miracle. In fact, it will probably happen just after I win the biggest jackpot in the history of the lotto, the day after I finish the Boston Marathon in third place, and the week after I drop that last two and a half pounds of my successful weight-loss program.
I wish I could sufficiently express my pleasure in celebrating this milestone with my mother and father. I’m not that great a poet. All I really have is this idiotic expression on my face, a look something between awe and joy, with just a smattering of envy.
What I’m saying is, these people, the pair who were reckless enough to have more children after they saw what I was going to be like, have done the most remarkable thing: they have remained in love with each other, through good and bad, for a full fifty years. The story my mother tells of their meeting is straight out of a gosh-darned story book, with heart going pit-a-pat and dreams of this handsome fellow to follow. They met while at college, at a dance. He was a brilliant nerd, she, a wholesome cheerleader. Her cousin introduced them.
Marilyn Heitmann, meet Peter Kloeppel. Pete, this is Mari.
The rest is history.
So, what to do but throw a party? We’ll be spending the weekend with friends and family, under a great tent in a neighbor’s garden, with picnic tables and iced tea and lemonade and laughter. What better way to demonstrate what life in this family has been like, than to gather under the big top with a bunch of zanies? If you know our family, you’re welcome to come join our celebratory circus between 2:30 and 4:00 Sunday afternoon (sorry about the meteorologist predicting heat, again. It’s just that my folks still can’t seem to turn down the steam in their relationship, I guess). There’s no admission fee, no ticket required for this show. Please, come to the garden immediately to the west of the house at 1062 East 2nd Avenue, and help us celebrate a half century of joyful madness.
In other words, I’m in too good a mood, right now, to concentrate on anything other than one major family event.
As of this coming Sunday, the 24th of June, 2007, my parents will have been married for fifty years -- half a century. I don’t know what that is in dog years. All I know is, I won’t live long enough to repeat their feat. From what I’ve seen, it’s rare enough among those who marry while young, so, considering I’m already well-past my fortieth birthday, if I were to manage this, it would be a miracle. In fact, it will probably happen just after I win the biggest jackpot in the history of the lotto, the day after I finish the Boston Marathon in third place, and the week after I drop that last two and a half pounds of my successful weight-loss program.
I wish I could sufficiently express my pleasure in celebrating this milestone with my mother and father. I’m not that great a poet. All I really have is this idiotic expression on my face, a look something between awe and joy, with just a smattering of envy.
What I’m saying is, these people, the pair who were reckless enough to have more children after they saw what I was going to be like, have done the most remarkable thing: they have remained in love with each other, through good and bad, for a full fifty years. The story my mother tells of their meeting is straight out of a gosh-darned story book, with heart going pit-a-pat and dreams of this handsome fellow to follow. They met while at college, at a dance. He was a brilliant nerd, she, a wholesome cheerleader. Her cousin introduced them.
Marilyn Heitmann, meet Peter Kloeppel. Pete, this is Mari.
The rest is history.
So, what to do but throw a party? We’ll be spending the weekend with friends and family, under a great tent in a neighbor’s garden, with picnic tables and iced tea and lemonade and laughter. What better way to demonstrate what life in this family has been like, than to gather under the big top with a bunch of zanies? If you know our family, you’re welcome to come join our celebratory circus between 2:30 and 4:00 Sunday afternoon (sorry about the meteorologist predicting heat, again. It’s just that my folks still can’t seem to turn down the steam in their relationship, I guess). There’s no admission fee, no ticket required for this show. Please, come to the garden immediately to the west of the house at 1062 East 2nd Avenue, and help us celebrate a half century of joyful madness.
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