And they said it’d never last. Ho, ho.
Today Herself and I celebrate 34 years of Holy Macaroni. She makes regular visits to the eye doctor so it’s not my fault. She’s either extremely tolerant or a secret drinker. P’raps both.
And for those of you who are mothers or had mothers, happy Mother’s Day. Ours were in attendance at the wedding in Hyde State Park up to Fanta Se (third and fourth from left, below) and neither of them disowned us, though mine considered it after I told her she couldn’t smoke in our house.
My sister, Peggy (far right) married Howard, a fine fellow and a Brainiac to boot, but decided against motherhood based upon having grown up alongside Your Humble Narrator, who never did.
And we are likewise without offspring because … seriously, have you ever read this blog? I mean, c’mon. Herself may need vision correction, but she does not lack perception.
Mad Blog Media 
Congratulations my friends!
Thank you, sir. What a long strange trip it’s been. …
Congrats PO’G and Herself!
Maybe I’ve missed it in an earlier blog but would love to hear how you met each other and “the rest of the story”. 🙂
O, that’s a long and winding road, JD. The short version is, I was working at The New Mexican in Fanta Se when one of the photographers dropped by the copy desk to say that she and her roommate were planning a Halloween party and would I pretty-please draw a cartoon invitation for them. So I dropped by their apartment to bang out a few sketches and pow: In strolls the roommate — Herself — with her date of the evening.
“Humina humina humina woof woof bow wow arrrrooooooo,” sez I to myself I sez. “She can do way better than that dude.” By which I meant she could be hanging around with me, because back then I still thought I was some punkins, though I have pictures from the era that make a strong argument to the contrary.
Well, sir, we hit it off. She nurses me through my first broken collarbone; we move in together; and the next thing I know I’m standing in front of a sky pilot, friends, colleagues, kinfolk, dogs, and a harpist, mumbling, “I do?”
And apparently I did. She’s got the paperwork and everything. Herself, not the harpist.
Ok O’Grady –
Not only are we the same age and born the same week, we were married more or less same week. 39 years for us on the 19th.
Yours in parallel whatever-hood.
Julian Shapiro Medanales,NM
Sent from mobile thingy.
Holy hell, Julian, that is weird. Are you also bald, gray-bearded, and unemployable?
Bald-ing. Had a grey beard during COVID. Unemployable? eh. I’m a tech guy. People are always asking for help. Sometimes I collect a few kopeks.
Oho! Tech. You will never starve. Not until A.I. decides it’s best suited to repair/enhance itself. Once I’d have said that medicine would be even better, but that was pre-COVID. And pre-A.I., come to think of it. We’ll all be seeing RoboDoc before long.
“Where does it hurt, you filthy meat-thing? Meep meep meep. If you were a proper bot we could swap in a new circuit board and you’d be as good as new. But I’m afraid it’s the Soylent Green tank for you. Meep meep meep. Incidentally, that movie was way off. Soylent Green was never intended to be food for the meat-things. It was to be lube for the bots. Next patient, Nurse Ratchet. Meep meep meep.”
Congrats on all fronts. Still alive and kicking. Still able to stand each other and most of all…you knowing your place in the kennel. THAT is how you made it to celebrate 34 years of nuptial bliss. That picture of the mom’s is priceless. Like on my end, neither one looked wildly giddy about your enjoinment but by god ya showed em. I will add however that I’ve never seen a picture of a groom next to his beautiful wife playing pocket pool. Or maybe trying to hold his borrowed trousers up? A raised glass of rose’ to Herself and Campy cone wrench salute to you Sir POG.
I was probably checking to see if my testes were in place. “I feel a couple pounds light in the Jockeys. Goddamnit, she said I could have ’em back for the wedding. Do my pants look flat in the front?”
Old Herb: You obviously have had some professional training in interrogation and/or resisting interrogation. or maybe in subliminal art work?
I too noticed the “PO’G poseur position” (trademark already applied for) in both photos. Feigned nonchalance, homme du monde thoughts of green chiles, could I be on a bike right now?, AM I A LUCKY GUY? 🙂
Answer: ERES UN TIPO AFORTUNADO!!!!!
Congrats Mr. O’Grady!
Thanks, Chuck. I think the only reason she hasn’t kicked me to the curb is that it took so long to get me housetrained.
Well, congrats on 34 years of holy macaroni (with cheese? green chile?) We are two years behind you. What worries me is that my better half just had cataract surgery. I better worry, now that she can see clearly.
“Well, sir, we hit it off. “…She nurses me through my first broken collarbone; we move in together; and the next thing I know I’m standing in front of a sky pilot, friends, colleagues, kinfolk, dogs, and a harpist, mumbling, “I do?”
Gosh darn, that sure does sound like a familiar story. My spouse-to-be was fuming at her students one May morning long ago and far away as half of them straggled in to their final exam halfway through the exam period. She finally asked them “do any of you own watches?” and one student replied “well, there was this bicyclist splayed out on the inbound lane of Kalanianaole Highway and traffic was backed up all the way to Hawaii Kai.”
Then her phone rang….yep, the boyfriend playing with bike racing again…
I wonder how many bicyclists share that route to the altar.
I was worried when Herself had the Lasix, but maybe there was some rose-tinting involved. Who knows? How’s the recovery proceeding? Tell her to avoid looking too closely at you in broad daylight until memory and reality reach some accommodation.
Adding insult to injury, when I broke that first collarbone I was living in La Puebla outside Española while Herself dwelt in Fanta Se. So she had to commute to keep me from breaking something else as I struggled to get out of my water bed.
Yeah, that’s right. A water bed. I have absolutely no idea what I was thinking, or if.
Water beds were the rage when we were young, if I can remember that far back. Gah, bad flashback. When Herself 1.0 moved back to Rochester and said she needed “some space”, first thing she did was buy a water bed. I should have known what would happen next….
Herself 2.0 was only living a few blocks from me (was an affordable neighborhood, by Honolulu standards, and close to the university) when I did the 34 mph overlapped wheel trick on the main highway into town, so moving in was not so tough on either of us. Yeah, dumb newbie mistake. I caught the rabbit who went off the front of the pack and looked down at my Cateye, not realizing that I was also overlapping wheels. You do that trick once.
Congrats To both for putting up with each other for 34 years, my better half (version 1.0, never tried to upgrade) and I have made it 46 and counting (47 the end of this coming July). Sometimes I’m not sure how.
We met as I was nursing a beer and a little road rash on my elbow at the local bistro (dive bar), She was there with friends for supper. My mom was a bit surprised to meet her after I had been spending a few weekends at Jere’s apartment (she thought the spelling was Jerry ;).
Bob H. on the right coast (CT)
Cheers to you, Bob. Forty-six? You folks must be doing something right (or something very wrong in a right kind of way). If you don’t know how it happened I wouldn’t go looking for answers. Just ride that wave, man.
I thought I’d pop in late night to see if there was still some celebratory ice cream around. What was the occasion again? Oh that’s right, 34 years of “Yes honey”, “You are correct again sweetie”. “Yes I will clean that floor in the bathroom right now babe.” I believe though that for all of us it has been worth it. You’re here, we’re here and the beer is good. Please wish your lovely one a fine thank you and for being swell. May you have many more grand adventures and sheet eatin’ grins together.
Can I get some ice cream now?
We didn’t have any ice cream, alas. But we did split a chocolate bar. Now I want some ice cream, dammit. …
Congrats, you two! We’ve gone 24 so far, so while you’re beating us by ten points, we’re in for the long haul too. May there be many more years together.
Rookies! Mrs. the Poet and I celebrated(?) 46 years of wedded bliss this past February. And this in spite of me being declared DOA and almost put in a body bag in 2001. I don’t know which of us was crazier for that, her for hanging around for more or me for also hanging around for more when I could have just quit and taken that long nap, but NO I had to complain about how they were treating me with a broken leg (in 4 places, and a TBI, and a huge hole in that leg opposite from where the truck hit me and…). But seriously, congrats on hanging in there with one out of every 2 marriages not making it to the bell lap.
Man, you 40-something marrieds are impressive. That’s what I call tenacity laced with forgiveness. Well done indeed.
We have been together 40 years. Been married 37 of those. And, I still don’t lock up the kitchen knives at night! Last year she looked me in the eyes and said, “Honey, I have decided to let you live another year.”
Paddy me boyo, the charity of women never fails to astound me. Every morning I wake up with an uncut throat is a miracle of marital marvelousness.
Oh for crying out loud….now I’m compelled to disclose we are closing in on 50 years come August. Despite many a misstep along the way. Before the knot was tied, I gave her chain lube for her birthday and she still went to the courthouse with me. But I’ve had to endure the telling of that poor decision ever since. The chain lube that is….And after the judge ordained the legality of it, we went for a bike ride with friends. Yeah…big time honeymoon alright. But I had a bike race really early the next day and the team was counting on me so the honeymoon was delayed a few months. Oh… and I crashed on the first lap.
Holy Oscar Meyer, I believe we have a wiener! To say nothing of a soul brother. I took Herself to a Colorado stage race for our honeymoon getaway. I failed to distinguish myself on so many levels.
Herb, mi amigo, you started the sprint late but passed us all in the last 10 meters. Fifty years! Going for the gold, heh? Pun intended.
Our missus look the same after all these years. Us? Due for a remake of Grumpy Old Men. Congrats to you two. In a couple of weeks it will be 35 yrs since an innocent gurl walked into I Martin Imports on Beverly Blvd and her life would never be the same. Still feels pretty darn good though. Kinda like making that huge rock encrusted drop where you think this is gonna be stoopid but make it out anyway only to look ahead and see another bigger than that one…
Scary, innit? I look at Herself 34 years down the road and she looks better than she did back in 1990. I look at me and … well, let’s just say that I have not aged like fine wine. More like a Clement Grifo tubie left glued to an old race wheel hanging in a sunny, spider-webbed corner of the garage. And yet some folks question my practice of shaving in the dark.
Thirty-four and counting … hoping that means you’re not even at the halfway point. Here’s to 34 more, and as many as you feel like hanging around for after that. Skál!
Congratulations, good times keep on going.!!!