Lesson 472: For Seventy-Two

Four hundred seventy-two times I've sat at this computer

on Friday nights to recap the week.

I've shared seasonal photos,

celebrations,

milestones,

passings,

and new beginnings.

Eloise was tickled that for the 472nd time,

I'm able to write this blog to honor two, seventy-two year olds,

celebrating fifty years of marriage--

For the Seventy-Twos!

OK, Mother.

I just heard you scream next door.

I know.

You're still 71 for a few more months.

It's called literary license. 

Deal with it.

I am fascinated by numbers,

although readily admit I don't understand them well.

My favorite number is 33,

and I've written a lot about its significance over the years.

3's always have a way of finding their way into my life.

Last Saturday, 

Natalie and Sam were in a bowling tournament.

The lane conditions were tough but Natalie came out the victor.
She beat her little brother,

with a game total of 366 to his 333,

a difference of 33 pins.

As we were calculating those scores,

I received a text from a friend 

who was watching the Lady Huskies play in Slippery Rock.

Ellen just hit a triple!  

the text read.

On the car ride home, 

I surfed my Ibotta ap,

only to learn that I had a year to date gift card collection of $333.

After the long car ride, the van needed a refuel.

It didn't surprise me much that the pump automatically shut off 

at $33.33.

If I was a gambler,

I probably should have played all 3's 

and reserved my spot on the Today Show couch,

retelling Matt and Savannah

 what led to the story of my remarkable win.

But I'm not a gambler.

Yet, tonight,

I did stop to play 472

for a week,

boxed and straight,

just for these two.

My parents.

They are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary tonight.

50 is a neat number, as well.

50 is the traditional amount of years in a jubilee period.

It's also the atomic number of tin.

I spent part of my week 

going through family photo albums and scrapbooks,

where I found old photos like these

capturing moments of life.

In the front sleeve on one album,

I found the article written by Harold Kirk,

a gentleman who lived in the house I was raised in,

and now live next to.

My parents' house is pictured on the right--

it was originally yellow when they purchased it in 1967.

My house stands today just in front of where the barn was.

Here is another shot of a horse that is standing in what is now

the 6 Mile Cellar's parking lot.  

I wonder if the horse is Winsome,

after their wine Winsome Red.

The parking lot for the winery was once the corral.

The fencing still lines it today.

If my parents are historians,

 my mother is the chronicler.

She saved not only photos,

but many things of interest she's collected over the years.

They are all neatly sorted and preserved in protective sleeves.

I found their marriage certificate,

 and a receipt from the Dixie Hotel in New York City

where they spent their honeymoon 

50 years ago.

$16.80 a night!

She even had some of her wedding cards.

Then,

as with any type of historical review,

you always come across things that make you say,

What the hell?

Lord help me.

Sigh.

Eloise is a weaver who enjoys finding the common thread.

How can I summarize 46 years of my life

and 50 years of theirs?

What lessons have I harvested from that old, red farmhouse,

and transplanted into the Lamp Post next door?

When I think about defining my parents and their outlook on life,

there is one thing that stands out:

they make people feel welcome.

Here is your vocabulary lesson for this weekend:

Welcome is a cool word.

Its roots trace back to Old English.

According to various internet sources, 

the word welcome comes from the world wilcuma.

wil-- pleasure

plus

cuma---guest

One of the gifts my sister and I chose for them was a welcome mat.

My parents love people.

They have lots and lots of friends 

whom they have opened their lives and home to.

The parties are evident of this.

Oh, the parties they have had!

Patriotic as they are,

Olympic themed parties are always their favorite.

They celebrate all things Erie.

In the off-Olympic years,

the old coots get a little more creative.

They must have had a few too many

in order to come up with this one.

And once in awhile 

their parties are down right ridiculous...ly fun.

This one commemorates the year that my dad patched up 

his old fishing boat we named The Titanic.

She sprung leaks quite often.

Jack and Rose drove it through the Gay Bay,

to claps and cheers of a beachful of onlookers.

To Mom & Dad,

thank you for making us ALL feel so welcome.

The door is always open, 

there are plenty of lawn chairs for you at the beach,

and without a doubt, 

there's always a cold beer waiting for you in the 'frig.

I don't have a single complaint about how I was raised--

well,

except for the matching outfits.

That was a little over the top,

but at least it explains 

why I wear t-shirts

and she wears sequins.

We had to do something to define our own styles.

I'll end this 472nd blog tonight with some wise words

found written in a wedding card from 50 years ago,

from their longtime friends, Pat and Bob.

It looks as though they took your advice.

They have

and

He has.

God has blessed them, yes indeed!

Enjoy some more snapshots on the photo video 

set to one of their favorite songs,

Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong.

Happy Anniversary,

Eloise

XOXOX