I may have shared this story here before, I lose track sometimes, I have many stories careening around in my memory bank. Today is my parent’s 65th anniversary. My mother’s spirit hangs out in another dimension now, but I still like to acknowledge the day with my dad. She was 18, he was 20, and they essentially eloped after knowing each other for six months. A JP married them on this day in East Greenwich, Rhode Island. When my Irish Catholic grandmother found out, she was outraged to find they were “living in sin.” My Protestant mother was mortified, my father at most somewhat sheepish, but most likely his usual laissez-faire self. My oldest uncle, Joe, an ex-seminarian drove my never-drove-in-her-life grandmother to St. Anne’s Parish in Quincy, Massachusetts to witness (most likely to make sure) my parents’ proper and sanctified, holy marriage, blessed by the parish priest. Apparently, this wedding was two weeks after the first, on Ground Hog Day, certainly an appropriate day for a Marriage Redo Redux. And that’s the story of my parents’ two marriages. I like to tease my dad about it sometimes, referring to his first and second marriages. Here’s a toast to my mum and my dad, two remarkable parents, who despite their youth always made my sisters and me feel cherished and safe.

Author: Dame

an evolving story, wanting to live a slower life right here and now...reconnections, new connections, and now connections are my calls, tea dates and letters preferred over emails...

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