Our 25th Anniversary

I met my Patrick 28 years ago, when one of Beth's private duty nurses set us up on a blind date.  We talked on the phone a few times before we met; what I remember the most about those conversations was that he asked me how I felt about my job.  FELT.  I was surprised that he wanted to know about my feelings ... in fact, I was impressed the moment he asked.  A man who talked about feelings.

He picked me up on a Wednesday night in late August of 1987.  He was older than he sounded on the phone; even now his voice has a youthful quality.  He came in and met my two daughters, my wheelchair-bound sister, and her second-shift nurse.  He gets big marks for not taking one look and leaving immediately.  He was sixteen years older than me, 48 years to my 32.  We were both taken aback by the age difference, but the wheels of the date were set in motion, so off we went.  When I got into his car, an old faded purple Monte Carlo with a mile-long hood and huge bench seat, I slammed my purse down in between us, just in case he got any ideas.   

He took me to an upscale waterfront restaurant, where we sat at the bar and had a drink, and talked.  He had a purse -- OK, it was really a camera bag that had aspirins and Kleenex and other important man things.  His camera of course.  Packages and packages of printed photos to show me. 

He was the most fascinating man.  He was a working man, a blue collar guy with a high school education who worked for the telephone company.  He had to travel a lot for his job, installing electrical equipment in telephone offices all around the northeast, and he made the best of it by becoming a tourist.  He was out of town for long periods of time which probably contributed to the breakdown of his marriage.  He had two college age children that he loved and talked about.  He was separated from his family in the most uncomfortable way and I could see he felt bereft and alone and I wasn't sure he was ready to date anyone.    

For dinner he took me to a little dive bar near the Chevy plant called Randazzo's.  They were known for their ninety-nine cent spaghetti dinner (with one meatball and plenty of sauce) and their five cent chicken wings.   The waitresses wore the menu on their T-shirts.  In my pencil skirt and silk blouse I was definitely the most dressed-up person there.  And we had so much fun.  When the waitress asked if we wanted dessert, I said "yes" and Patrick says now with a twinkle in his eye that he should have known I wasn't going to be a cheap date.  The whole bill with drinks and wings and spaghetti and the biggest plate of strawberry shortcake you've ever seen was $11.95.

He had the greatest stories.  He was a gentleman, and as a child of the seventies I wasn't used to that.  He opened my door and he walked on the street side of the sidewalk.  He was funny, and nice, and charming.  He thought about things.  He told atrocious jokes.  He could talk to anyone.  And I was completely captivated.

We didn't want the evening to end, so when he heard I hadn't been on the new subway, he bought us each a one-way ticket and off we went downtown.  We walked around and he pointed out historical buildings and different types of architecture and told me stories about it all. 

The last train went back to the UB station at 11:45 PM, and it was sitting at the stop, waiting, so we went to get on.  It was eighty-five cents for a ticket, but Pat didn't have the correct change for two tickets so he bought one ticket and put me on the train.  While I sat there and watched Pat through the window buttonholing everyone who came along for change for a dollar I wished I hadn't left my purse in the trunk of his car, and the train driver rang his bell impatiently.  Someone finally gave him the change and he threw the money into the ticket machine, jumped on the train, the driver slammed the door, and we took off with a lurch.  We laughed with relief and cuddled and had our first kiss on an almost deserted train car.  Three years later, we were married.

Pat proposed by saying, "If you and the kids were on my insurance, the medical bills wouldn't be crippling you." 

"But we'd have to be married for that,"  I said, putting away laundry.

"Yes, I know," he said.

"So is this a proposal?"  I slammed the bureau drawer and rolled my eyes.

"Yes, I guess it is," he said, smiling. 

I was smiling too, six months later, on September 29, 1990, at two o'clock in the afternoon, when we were married.  It was wonderful, with our family and friends surrounding us, an unforgettable day.  I sewed my wedding dress and one of the bridesmaid's dresses.  Both my daughters, eleven and thirteen years old, stood up with me along with my best girlfriend, Patti.  We even wrote our own vows.  (Well Pat did; I found what I wanted to say in a greeting card.  Three snips of the scissors, a little tape, and I rolled it up, stuck it in my bouquet, and when the time came, read it.) My sister was able to come to the wedding and the reception in her 200 pound power wheelchair; friends picked her up, chair and all, and carried her up the steps.  My brother catered it with fabulous food, and the 125 year old building's ballroom had just been completely restored.   It was the most perfect day.

For our honeymoon we drove to Florida, straight through, with no stopping.  Well, we stopped when we broke down, three times on the way down.  We camped at Disney World in a thirty-year-old smelly canvas tent, left over from the Korean war.  We flattened our air mattress three times and had to patch it.  We had more car troubles as we drove around Florida, and if you want to hear about that, email me and I'll send you the story.  But we had fun.  We've always had fun.  The motto we've adopted is "we're going to have a good time whether we want to or not."  And with my Patrick, good times abound.

We don't do a lot of special stuff on our anniver- sary, but we always give each other cards.  Love notes.  So this is my love note to you, Patrick.  I love you.  I remember everything.  I've had more than 25 years of fun.  I hope you have too.  Can't wait to see what the future brings.  Big smiles.

Your Janice