Happy Anniversary, Glenda.
As soon as I finish writing this blog, I'm going to load myself up in my little Pontiac Solstice and make a quick jaunt over to Silver Dollar City to celebrate our anniversary. It's been four weeks since I've been there, which is in large part due to the heat wave we've been in. I used to hate going because I'm an introvert, and it takes a lot of energy for me to endure large crowds. I try to never go on a weekend because the place can be a madhouse. In a couple of more weeks they'll be going back to being open five days a week instead of seven, so I'll go back to making my weekly jaunts on Thursdays. Glenda loved Silver Dollar City, and on the morning she died almost two years ago, that is where we were going. If you came to visit us, she would take you there. It was her preferred place to meet with our kids, and grandkids. She loved to ride the rides, and she loved to see our children having fun. So, going to 'The City' as she used to call it, is something I do to honor her memory. In the process of doing that, I've come to enjoy it myself. I usually get me a funnel cake, and then go to a couple of shows and ride 'Fire in the Hole' about once a month. The ache in my heart caused by her absence isn't as pronounced as it used to be, but today is different. I woke up missing her.
Forty nine years ago today, Glenda and I said our vows to one another, ran off to a cheap hotel about forty miles away and prayed to God no one had followed us there. I took her to a very nice restaurant in Stillwater, Oklahoma of which I don't remember the name or even what I ate. BUT, I do remember her face, and her radiant smile that warmed my heart. Today, I don't want to point out how much I miss her, or how she made me feel, I want to simply say that she was a special person, loved by almost everyone who met her. Her laugh was ready, and hung out easily just beneath the surface of her smile. She took joy in simple things, and saw life in a clarity that made everyone happy she was there. She was a much better writer than I ever was, and everything she wrote made you feel as if you were there in her story. However, if you told her she needed to publish her stories she would brush it away and quickly change the subject. After our move from Las Vegas to Little Rock, I noticed that her binder with her stories was gone.
She believed in hard work, following the rules, and loving those who were not easy to love. If you were destitute, or down on your luck, she was your friend. If you needed food, clothing, or just a sympathetic ear, she made sure you had it. If you were a stray, ugly, or challenged in any way, she wanted to even the playing field. She was brilliant, but hid it behind a mask of redneck simplicity. She never thought she was enough, even when confronted with the truth of her achievements. She loved good food, and made good food. She was an awesome baker, and worked hard to cook me out of availability. She loved comedy, and at the same time loved action adventure shows. She was first and foremost a country music girl, and had a deep passion for the bluegrass festival at Silver Dollar City.
If someone could give me the chance to go back to that hot Friday afternoon on August the 13th, and offer me the choice of whether to marry her again, I would, and I hope she would have, too. It wasn't easy, and I know I disappointed her many times, but that is the nature of loving someone enough to let them see you at your worst, and your best. As I sit here writing this, I find myself wondering if I'll still be here next year to celebrate our 50th anniversary. We aren't guaranteed tomorrow, but if I am alive next year on August the 13th, I'll go buy a small cake and have them decorate it with a celebration of 50 years together.
That's it, now it's time to head out and enjoy "The City."
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