Happy 40th anniversary to a very patient woman
Not a very classy way to meet your future wife, I’ll admit.
Next Sunday, May 20, will be our 40th wedding anniversary.
Cindy has stuck by me despite all my quirky hobbies and habits. Like the time she fell asleep while I was driving on Cape Cod and I rerouted to go to a fire museum. Unfortunately, it was closed.
Or the time while on our honeymoon and she was driving on the Beltway around Washington and I asked, “Is my camera in the car?” It was not. I couldn’t handle it, so I asked if we could go back to our hotel in Virginia to get it. During rush hour.
Or the time when I offered to help separate the contents of a bag of frozen hot dogs by slamming it on the kitchen counter. I should have waited until she moved her hand out of the way.
Or the time we found chicken wing bones in a kitchen drawer. I scoffed at her suggestion that we had mice in our apartment. But when I opened the door below the sink, there was the culprit, still quivering in the sprung trap.
Or that time we were driving down Walden Avenue and I saw a confrontation developing between two drivers. As an aspiring photographer attending Buffalo State, I saw my opportunity to get some dramatic photos that I might be able to sell to the Courier-Express. When one of the men saw me with a camera, he walked over to my car with a crowbar in hand. I thought he was going to smash my windshield, but instead he just asked what on earth I was doing.
Or that time we walked several blocks to a store to get food for her grandmother during the Blizzard of ’77. The wind chill was 63 degrees below zero. Or the time, on our wedding day, when my best man whispered to me that my father’s tux did not match those of my ushers. There were fewer than five minutes to go before the ceremony was to start.
Or the time we were driving to our son’s hockey tournament in Toronto and encountered dense fog as we neared the Burlington Skyway bridge. Cindy was at the wheel as we followed the taillights of a truck ahead of us. “Don’t worry, I know there is a curb on the side of the right lane,” I said in all seriousness. I was terrified, but she got us through it.
Or the time we were watching our son’s high school hockey game and the puck came up over the glass, right at us. I ducked. She didn’t. A dozen stitches later, I was still apologizing for not catching it or at least making an attempt to do so. Friends still remind me of my unfortunate decision.
Or the time we went out of our way to check out a historical cemetery (actually a few times).
Or that time she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, Jennifer Marie, after a difficult pregnancy and several false alarms of labor.
Or that time she gave birth to our witty son, Jonathan Ellsworth, also after a difficult pregnancy.
Happy anniversary and many more to come.
(David F. Sherman is managing editor of Bee Group Newspapers and a columnist for the Weekly Independent Newspapers of Western New York, a group of community newspapers with a combined circulation of 286,500 readers. Opinions expressed here are those of the author. He can be reached at email@example.com.)