Posts Tagged ‘long marriage’

Married in September (2)

09 September 2012 Written by Lois Hjelmstad 2 Comments

(continued)

As it turned out, Les did find a place to stay for our wedding night – at an old hotel (The Auditorium). Whew! No more worry about that. Just deal with drab and dreary. Or not notice at all.

So this is the 64th anniversary of the third day before our wedding. The only thing I will say about it is what I wrote in my diary that night:

Boy, will I ever be glad to drive away with Les Sunday afternoon and never ever go through this again. And please, God, let all my children be sons?

[As it turned out, we have three sons and one lovely daughter whom I would not give up for anything.]

More tomorrow…

Married in September (1)

08 September 2012 Written by Lois Hjelmstad 1 Comment

The sun shines brightly. The air is soft and warm. My heart sings. September is my favorite month.   

Yesterday it dawned on me it was the 64th anniversary of the day that my mother and I went shopping for the reception stuff – plates, cups, napkins. (I assume they were paper. I don't recall.) Les met us downtown and we went to a jewelers to pick out my wedding ring. 

Really? Five days before the wedding? Were we eloping or what? Actually, no. We had invited 150 guests to a wedding and reception on September 12.

Let me go back in time. We had planned to get married on October 3, the first Sunday after my 18th birthday. So I had made some preliminary phone calls and we had talked a bit about whom we would invite and how our wedding might be.

But Les' mother and two youngest brothers, who had spent the summer with him, needed to hurry back to North Dakota in time for the start of high school. She had seven married children and had never been to any of the weddings.

So mid-August, my parents agreed we could move up the date so that Les' family could attend the wedding before they left. Barely enough time to get the invitations mailed. Barely enough time for Mother to make my wedding dress and two candlelighter dresses. Barely enough time to get blood tests and contemplate marriage.

And today is the 64th anniversary of  "Oh, no, Les can't find a place for us to stay on our wedding night!" Four days before the wedding. He had wanted to stay at The Oxford Hotel in Denver, but it was booked for a dairymen's convention. Dairymen?

Good grief. What will tomorrow bring?

(Adapted and augmented from This Path We Share. (c) 2010 Lois Tschetter Hjelmstad)
 

The First Time I Saw You

12 June 2012 Written by Lois Hjelmstad 6 Comments

I am really excited this morning. Today it is 65 years since my first "date" with Les.

I had met him over six months earlier at a Thanksgiving dinner with friends. Les, recently discharged from the US Navy, home from WWII, was staying with them, looking for work.

After dinner, Les–blue eyes sparkling, crisp white dress shirt open at the collar, unusually tan for November–pushed away from the table and leaned back in his chair. He clasped his heads behind his head and stretched his long legs. 

"That was a great dinner," he said. They were the first and only words he spoke.

A long drawn-out-ooh feeling took hold somewhere in my gut.

I wonder how it would feel to have those strong arms wrapped around me. Whoa, girl. We just met.

When I was eleven, my mother had sat on the edge of my bed one evening, uncomfortable and embarrassed. Even veiled in the birds and bees jargon of the early 1940s, she was dispensing some pretty amazing information. I do not recall most of what she said, but I plainly remembered, "Never let a man touch you." Why in the world would I want a man to touch me?

Well, now I knew. But Les was twenty-four and I was just sixteen, so I tried to forget about those arms.

Then almost seven months later, on June 12, 1947, Les took me home from a party at church. We had never had a conversation and even then I don't remember anything we said that first time we were alone. When I turned to thank him for the ride and get out of the car, he smiled his beautiful smile, pulled me close, and quietly rested his head on my bosom. We sat in silence a long time before I finally ran into the house. Somehow I felt safe. Did I sense his strength, his steadfastness?

(Excerpted from This Path We Share: Reflecting on 60 Years of Marriage, ©) 2010 Lois Tschetter Hjelmstad)

Now, here it is, 65 years later. I was right: He has been steadfast and strong all these years. Did I actually know that when I was 16 or have I just been incredibly lucky? No matter which, I am exceedingly grateful. Now, we must go to McDonald's for lunch and celebrate!

 

 

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