Fitty years

Fifty. Fitty. The big five-oh. Cincuenta. Cinquante. Funfzig.

That's our goal. Like a fifty-year-old cockatoo. Or fifty pence. Or fifty miles an hour. Or fifty red roses.

Fifty years. It starts out by finding someone who has the same image, the same concept in mind. God willing, we'll make it, but it seems to me that if we weren't starting out with the same goal in mind, it would make it awfully hard to achieve that goal. It helps - a lot - that our parents were married for a very long time. Maybe this is something that makes or breaks it. I mean, if we didn't have the role model, would we even know to think about it? To aspire to that? To be able to imagine it? I guess it would be possible, just that much harder.

Second criterion: Fifty Happy Years. Yes, that's romantic. And yes, there's probably some naïveté mixed in there, too. But again, if you can't fathom it, can't even conceptualize it, it seems like it would be hard to make it reality.

Oh, I imagine there will be good times, bad times, and (what may be even worse) the indifferent times. We have a lot to figure out. Maybe on a good day, I'll print this blog entry out and sigh wistfully and blissfully. Maybe on a bad day, I'll print it out and tape it to my closet door to remember why I went down this path. But Brian and I are closing in on a year (in three days, we'll have dated for 9 months, known each other for 10). And it feels good. So good. So right. So fifty years, it is. We'll re-evaluate at that point and see where we want to go from there. I told Brian I may just hobble over to the old geezer in the next room if he hasn't kept me happy. ;-). In the meantime, may God bless us in getting through the paper, cotton, wood, copper, china, bronze, silver, pearl, ruby, and sapphire years 'til we hit gold. Actually, before I get ahead of myself, may God help us get to the wedding day, and then help us through the rest of it. :-)