seasoned love

The best romance is inside the marriage; the finest love stories comes after the wedding, not before. ~ Irving Stone

I found this quote on a wedding congratulations card last week. I wonder if it shouldn't be mentioned at every wedding. Maybe I should have bought all the cards they had that day, except we are invited to only three weddings this summer.

Two of those marriages I have confidence in their longevity. The third not so much.

And I have some theories about why. Two of these marriages have original parents still married to each other. That is huge, although not a guarantee of success.

More importantly, two of the three couples will go to their weddings not having shacked up together, to put it bluntly and crudely. The statistics I've read show that living together narrows a couple's chance of not divorcing, to about 20%. And sadly, it is not an unrealistic to assume that most people have lived together before their huge lavish (sham) weddings. Yes, I have strong opinions on the matter.

Here's how it works for most: the girl badgers the guy to give her a ring, the girl and guy move into the same dwelling space, then they set a wedding date for two years hence.

Really, then, why plan a big old wedding bash? The pizazz is over by the time the invitations are ordered. Is it just for the benefit of the elderly relatives who have still have morals? Why bother with a dress, flowers and taking up the sanctuary of some church? Save time and money: run to the justice of the peace in your shorts and tube top and get busy planning the drunken party to entertain all the friends.

And etiquette were up to me, wedding showers for co-habitators would be uncouth. Because you've been playing house for a while now. A shower really just looks like a cheap-wad way to get some nicer loot. And wouldn't we all like that once in a while.

Can you tell I hold strong opinions on these matters?

Because watching people might be one of my top five hobbies, I even watch people in church. We have the most squirrely children, by far, at our church and so other people's kids don't intrigue me nearly as much as older people. More specifically, older couples.

One couple, who must be pushing 80 or more, came in as we were. (in a rare moment, we arrived when the greeters were still welcoming people). She was more spry than he. He was hunched over quite a bit. They walked together. Sam and Priya held the doors open for them. How many of my generation will still have someone to walk to church with in fifty years?

The other folks, I noticed, were maybe twenty years younger. They held hands the whole service. Maybe they were a product of the some golden agers singles dance. I hope it was because they still liked each other after forty years.

Young love is what moms and grandmas get all teary-eyed about. But is it really love? More like infatuated or desperate? But I would ask, it is really love? Because love doesn't let a promising career and a masters degree rot a marriage, does it? Does real love get wandering eyes that maybe, at middle age with rolls and wrinkles and varicose veins and a nest full of children, there is someone better out there? Does love just tolerate the person they made their life with these past decades, amusing themselves with hobbies, each ridicules the other about, so they won't have to love, much less interact?

Honestly, there is nothing more discouraging than middle aged people snipping at each other and grouching about each other. Really, who arranged this marriage? Didn't you choose each other? Why was he or she such a hot item 10 or 20 or 40 years ago and not now?

But there is nothing more encouraging, to my marriage, than seasoned love. Love with wrinkles and respectful teasing and several decades under their belts. Love with no scorn over the others interests or habits or quirks.

Interestingly, Irving Stone was eighty-something when he died with the same wife he started out with. His wife, an editor before they married, edited his books. Apparently he knew about romance and love stories from experience.