Being Happily Married

During the last century, when I was much younger, I never thought of getting married. I was too busy playing Roy Rogers, Gene Autry or Tom Mix. Us boys were rough and tough, able to rescue damsels and bring them home to their families. If we were married, how could we roam from town to town doing good deeds?

At our age life was filled with temporary adventures, like a piece of chewable tar, or a tasty strip of timothy seed or a pocketful of hazel nuts. After we peeled off the fuzzies, then cracked the shells with our teeth, of course.

I’ve since tried eating a piece of tar from someone’s roof job several years ago, in an attempt to recapture the past. Aaagghhhh! And the Timothy seed was just as bad, almost choking me, when it got stuck in my throat.

Even the hazel nut I mouthed challenged me to a tooth-cracking contest. I kept thinking about the possible need for a root canal, if I went any further. How I changed from then to now.

As I look back on the beginnings of married life, a parallel of incidents often took place. Yes, I became that lonely cowboy finally seeking a mate, someone who would love me, help me raise a kindergarten of children, and then stand by surveying my brood of children at the ranch. They really became our children, Oops, reality-check; well they listened to me sometimes.

Good thing my wife was nearby. The little darlings wanted me for a buddy to play with and jump on. My spouse was the boss of the range, and the little ones only requested my vast knowledge when it came time for them to test the waters.

“Dad, do you think mom would let us go swimming today?” Or, “Dad, do you want to take us for a drive, if mom lets?” Thankfully they didn’t possess the courage to try and rescue some damsel in distress. In this day and age, they might have wanted to run off and get hitched.

The day I popped the marriage question was freezing cold. It was a typical snowy, freezing and windy expression of Nature during the raging month of January 1975. My precious and I went ski-dooing at our friend’s farm, but my true intention was to head for a copse nearby, the perfect place to propose.

In spite of the weather I was determined to pop the question in the woods, well at least within the dozen or so birch and poplar straight and tall meager shelter even for the cows whenever they remembered this spot. Besides, it afforded us a little bit of shelter from the raging snow-spattered wind.

I could see my wife-to-be (if she accepted) shivering, as she waited patiently, wondering what was happening, although I’m sure she surmised the occasion. After all, it was our second date.

Finally down on my knees, I began… “Yes, she said, before I could say anything further, please let’s go, I’m freezing.” I managed to finish my request, then pressed icy lips against hers. I climbed one tree and carved our initials. (Never could find the same one on subsequent trips) We hurried to our warm house.

It wasn’t long before I learned to say “No” to the kids. “Yes” for them going to the store, “Yes” to dancing with my lovely and “No” to the kids, again and again, whenever they pursued unreasonable requests. Phew, they can be persistent though.

Life has been a roller coaster of fun, four children and five grandchildren later, in fact, thirty-four and a half years later, life remains wonderful and my love and I are still on our honeymoon.

And looking back over our family’s litany of fun made life so meaningful; traveling to Manitoulin Island on the gigantic Chee Chee Maun Ferry boat, trips to Atlantic Canada (eventually moving to Nova Scotia) and visits across this great country.

We survived through thick and thin, loss of jobs, children growing up and moving on, a stroke stalking my health, a long recovery process and co-authoring four published novels with my precious wife, Esther.

Yes, she is the wise one. She’s always managed our finances, and taught me many useful tidbits, such as how to sew on a button, make the bed, hang clothes on the line, cook eatable food, operate the dish-washer, clothes washer, dryer; and above all, operate a computer, which allows me greater freedom in my writing.

I could go on and on. Oh yes, I almost forgot the best part. My wife is a great kisser.

© Richard L. Provencher 2010