Forty-Five Years

Forty-five years ago,  I tied up the middle Campbell boy on a hot Saturday afternoon during Labor Day week-end.  There were some, including my mother-in-law, who thought we were nuts for getting married.  Maybe my mother did too, but she was sure crazy about my hubby, so maybe not.  I honestly don't remember much about the event except there were a lot of parties and my mother and Aunt Anne had a wonderful time planning it all.  Unlike brides today, I pretty much just went and did whatever they said for me to.  I know there were a lot of people at the wedding, partially because they liked my parents and partly because my Aunt threw great parties and she was hosting the reception at her home.

Just about the time the party started to get going, we were told that it was time for us to leave.  I changed out of my lovely wedding gown into the dress and coat that I had made in my tailoring class at college and we dashed to the car amid a ton of rice.  We were married.  As we drove away we looked at each other and for the first time in weeks, there was no one telling us what to do.  I think at that moment we realized that we were really on our own, sink or swim.

It was a time before the extravagant honeymoons of today.  Hubby had worked as a summer intern for the Intermediate Credit Bank in Louisville and had saved every penny for our honeymoon.  I had worked as a taster (giving out samples in stores) for the Ale-8-One soft drink company and had squirreled away as much as I could.  Hubby had found a little motel on one of his banking trips that he thought would be perfect.  So we took off on the long trip to Fulton, Kentucky and Tennessee.  What we didn't know was that this pretty, quiet little town on the Kentucky-Tennessee line in far western Kentucky was hosting the International Banana Festival that week-end. (Yep.  I have probably heard every joke you are now thinking of!) 

It seems that Fulton was historically the railroad center that received all the bananas that were shipped up the Mississippi River.  From there they were shipped by rail to the rest of the United States.  It was a big deal in the late 1800's and early 1900's.  We arrived to be met at the city limits with a friendly greeting and a welcome banana.  We entered the town to discover it teaming with people and festivities.  Over the next couple of days we ventured out from our little motel (which was actually on the Tennessee side of town) to enjoy the art displays, craft vendors, contests and the colossal 500 lb. banana pudding, plus a free banana every time we crossed the city limits.

However, by about the third day we had reached a crisis point.  Things were beginning to come unraveled in the honeymoon suite, humble though it may be.  Hubby had grown up in a family with two brothers--no sisters.  His mother while sweet, was low-maintenance to a fault.  He was used to getting up, showering and having his breakfast on the table.  The world of primping with make-up,  the teased hair-do's of the sixties, and endless female preparations before breakfast were fast getting to him.  On top of his concern over starving before I finally got ready was the very real problem of how we were going to pay for that very breakfast.  We were rapidly (and literally) eating up our meager savings.  So, as we counted out pennies for our breakfast tab,  I realized we needed to get out of there and go home where I could cook his breakfast in my robe or the marriage might be short lived. 

The marriage was saved and I have spent the last 45 years preparing his breakfast so he can eat when his feet hit the floor.  I figure that I have fixed about 16,200 breakfasts in that time. 

Not bad, considering that I don't even eat breakfast.