In fact, I was hiding in the shoe aisle when he went to get it. Muttering something about I don’t think the slipper is gonna fit Cinderella and crouching to keep my head down so the shoe salesman wouldn’t see me trying to stuff my size nine into what felt like a five. (You know what Dolly Pardon says right? I wear a seven, but an eight feels so good– I buy a nine. Or something like that.) Anyway.

With help from that embarssing shoe horn I was able to get the glass slipper on. It felt good after I did. Ben insisted on getting the shoe horn  for me. Gee thanks, Honey. A mother’s day I won’t soon forget.

Then he presented me with these.

Now back me up on this… those boots are made for spoilin’. I’m frugal, I wouldn’t buy those for myself –ever. But he would. I think they are cool in a dude sort of way. The kind of boot you have to be tough enough to wear. Cause you’re gonna take some lip for them–like you best get up to yer fighting weight–type of thing.

“I think they’re sexy,” he said. ”You can wear them to bed. Besides, you need something to use that shoe horn on.”

He’s so romantic. I think he wants to try to make me a mother again…some more.

Did you getting showered with unique mother’s day gifts this year? I hope so.

Simply,

Sis

Ben and I are celebrating our 15 year anniversary today. Kind of. In reality? I need to finish planting our garden, put clean clothes away and whoop a clean on this dirty farm house. After school the kids will have homework and maybe ball practice. Ben has to work late, then has a bluegrass gig. Our plans for a romantic steak dinner for two with our traditional white cake and fresh strawberries (just like our wedding cake) will have to wait. A gal could just get mad, but I’m choosing to look at it differently. We’ve come a long way, the two of us.

Shortly after we met we decided we just couldn’t live without each other and had to get married, but waited for three months to tell our parents. MiMi, Ben’s mom, said “Oh-my-God, Ben, you can’t get married!…Oh congratulations! *hugs*…I need a cigarette!” (This outburst is still simply hilarious to me.) Fifteen minutes after my dad met Ben he said, “Hell, his ears ain’t but that big *holding up his encircled fingers*…no bigger than a quarter.” But agreed later to let Ben marry me anyway after he asked, regardless of his ear size. Truth was, Dad probably needed a cigarette too.

Four months later he gave his only daughter away in a tiny Marine Corps chapel in Arlington Cemetery,Virgina. The cherry blossoms were still in bloom and when the sun hit them that day it made the air smell great. I was in a homemade wedding dress and dad in a hand-me-down suit.  Mom read from our old family Bible, and the lady I nannied for stood up with me. The flowers I held were white lilies tied with a piece of fraying fabric from my dress and there was a sprig of baby’s breath in my hair. Ben was in his dress blues. *sigh* Just the thought of it still makes my heart leap. Pictures were snap shots taken by friends and Tim, our best man, another Marine, saluted me with his sword. I felt rich, like a queen, even though my chariot was an old 1987 blue and white Chevy pick-up (with dents in each door and really loud pipes) and our wedding jewels weren’t jewels at all, just plain white-gold bands–paid for from tips I stashed while working at a steakhouse. It was simple, just like our love.

A lot can happen in fifteen years. That song, Remember When by Alan Jackson pretty well sums it up.

I guess when you marry young you’re not quite set in your ways and instead of trying to fit two stoic pieces into the marriage puzzle, young folks can be a little more shape-able. We have became one. A one that is still constantly changing, hopefully for the better, but at least together. Add to that weird mix a couple of boys, a couple of cats, an old farmhouse with issues, some home cooked meals, one homemade G string, some bluegrass music and here we are.

I don’t have any words of wisdom for staying together except read this book. I’ve learned that real love is fragile but resilient. It’s get-your-hands-dirty, messy. It’s gray not black and white. It’s happy and heartbreaking–a true paradox and the closest thing I’ll find to heaven this side of eternity. When I think of Ben, I think of riches untold, from talent to character. I’m sure lots of which I have yet to see in him or discover. It’s been quite a journey, one that I wouldn’t want to be on with anyone else.

There is nothing left to say except…Happy Anniversary, Darlin’, now hand me that pile of laundry…

Simply,

Sis

SINthia, my evil twin, and I have a birthday coming up here real soon. Ben, in typical Ben fashion, has surprised me. Well kinda. As much as you can surprise someone you’ve lived with for almost fifteen years. Last year, we were making like bums on one of his days off and went into a flea market to see what we could see. I saw this.

Everyone knows how much I love cast iron. I use it in my first, second and third kitchens. And Ben knows how much I love gifts I can use and don’t have to dust (trinkets are really not my thing).What can I say? I’m very practical. When I saw this the first time, my eyes lit up. I thought of all the chicken fried steak I could fry, pineapple upside-down cakes over the campfire I could do, and how I would probably have to will it one of the kids when I die, to keep the family. (In case you don’t know, that’s what you do with cast iron.)

And Ben, God love him, always remembers when my eyes light up. Truthfully, it doesn’t happen very often. I simply don’t want for much of anything. They say a rich person isn’t the one with the most, but one who needs the least. That would be me. I’m very rich.

So a year later, we are making like bums again. I said, “Lets stop and see if that skillet is still there.”

We stopped. He bought it and explained, with a bummed look on his face, how he was going to buy it the day before and surprise me with it, but something came up at work, and he couldn’t.

I had to laugh. Everyone knows he can’t keep a secret from me. That’s okay. I can’t keep one from him either. Anyone else’s secret, we are both okay; but the soul mate thing throws a wrench in our secrets. At Christmas last year I got him some stag grips for his pistol. He knew something was up and said, “If I guess it will you tell me?” *Sis nodding* Weeks later he asks, “Does it rhyme with gag strips?”

Anyway. Thanks Ben, for my new/very old cast iron skillet. I love it and know there is no need to pick up a flower and wonder if he loves me…

I already know.

Sis

While we were planning the rest of our evening three young Marines came in.

“Sis, check out the one in the black hat”, Jules gushed.

“The one in the straw hat is much better looking”, I said and returned to the story I was telling.

Soon the one in the straw was over to ask Jules to dance. That was typical.

When she got back she said, “You’re in luck, Sis, he’s interested in you.”

“I’m not interested.”

“No, really, he’s a Marine. Isn’t your brother a Marine?”

“Yep, and he said never marry a Marine. Strike one.”

“No, Sis, really, he’s a cowboy. He can rope and stuff, like you. Your dad’s a cowboy, right?”

“Yep, and Mom said never marry a cowboy. Strike two.”

“C’mon, Sis, he’s from Kansas, isn’t that close to Nebraska?”

Yep. I would never live in Kansas. Strike three, he’s out. 

“Excuse me, ma’am, would you like to dance?”

Helloooo handsome! I set my beer down and turned looked into his eyes for the first time and lost my breath, words, all sense of time and all sense.

I had never seen anyone so…steamy. I mean GQ steamy. Those eyes. And lips. Perfect Beverly Hills lips. The kind of lips people pay good money for. I took a deep breath and as I opened my mouth to say something a thought ran through my  mind, it was just a whisper at first…’this is HIM’.

“I would love to…” was all I managed say.

Evidently that was enough.

After sharing every move on the dance floor for an hour, he decided he needed to play the guitar up on stage and went up to commandeer the position. 

Oh Jeez, I can really pick ‘em. This isn’t Hamburger Hill, Marine, this is a bar. You can’t just get up on stage with the band anytime you want to. Maybe he’s not really ‘the one’. I started thinking about leaving while he was preoccupied. Then I heard him play. Wow he’s good. Really good.

Hours later, the bar was closing, but I didn’t want the night to end. Ben, was gracious enough to invite us back to his apartment.

“So, what do you think?”Jules said with a yawn.

“He’s exactly what I’ve been looking for. I’m gonna marry him. Let’s go.”

“Sis, are you sure? You just met. You really don’t date much…I mean really…”

“Nope. I’m sure, he’s the one. Let’s go…”

“I don’t think this is a good idea…”

“Aw, he’s a Marine. If you can’t trust a Marine, who can you trust?”

So we went, against Jules’ better judgement. Which at the time, was the only judgement we had, as I had misplaced mine.

At his apartment, Ben and I soon found ourselves alone. He picked up his guitar. My heart was pounding in my chest and my mind was racing. He’s so magical…are there really people like this…is he even real…is this a dream? He was singing a song I had never heard called Knoxville Girl. (click to hear)

“I met a little girl in Knoxville, a town we all know well. And every Sunday evening down in her home I’d dwell…”

Awwww, this is nice little love song. He’s so different from what I usually date, this is sweet…

“We went to take an evening walk about a mile from town…”

I was getting weaker by the moment. I sat mesmerized and day dreaming about us walking hand in hand as the sun set…

“I picked a stick up off the ground and KNOCKED that fair girl down…”

Oh Crap! Did I just hear him right? Jules. JULES! It’s time to go. Oh good Lord, where is JULES? Oh God, she’s gone. She gone and he is smiling. Smiling a very sadistic smile. Oh this is it, this is the end.I started to shake violently on the inside and felt like I could throw up.

“She begged and pleaded on bended knee, for mercy she did cry… ‘Oh, Ben my dear, don’t kill me here, I’m unprepared to die’…”

This IS it. “Oh God, please. If you just get me out of this, I promise I’ll never…”

“She never spoke another word. I only beat her more. Until the ground around her, with her blood did flow…”

Okay. That’s it. It’s either me or him. And it darn sure isn’t going to be me. I think I can take him. As Kate used to say…”Partner, you best get up to yer fighting weight.”

All he could do was smile that smile. The same one that got me to that point in the first place.

I wish I would have known then…If the woman is still alive at the end of the song, it ain’t bluegrass.

(to be continued)

From the grave,

Sandhill Sis

P.S. Happy Anniversary, Ben. Thanks for 14 adventurous years. I respect you greatly.