Happy belated anniversary, Honey!

He never promised me a rose garden, and that was our mantra when things were going wrong. And really, what could possibly go wrong?

He’d been recently divorced with four children. I’d been divorced for three years with a five-year-old son, was married to my job, and seeing someone else.

It all started when he showed up where a girlfriend and I played pool after work.

After several of those drop-bys, Sherri said, “That guy’s in love with you?”

“No, he’s not,” I said. “He’s sorta full of himself, and the son of one of our publishers. His father made us dance together a few months ago at a convention.”

Bill also showed up at my house one day after I’d had a root canal. He’d gone by the office to see my boss, they told him I was ill, and he was worried about me. I was worried, too.

I was worried, too.

Worried that he knew where I lived.

After much more time shooting pool we became more than friends.

What could possibly go wrong?

When marriage was talked about much later, I sorta balked, so Bill invited a minister friend to counsel me.

After Bill left my house, I asked his friend for identification. He grinned, showed me his driver’s license, and a church business card. He listened to my concerns, said it wouldn’t be easy, but Bill was sincere, and loved me. Then he said, “You realize Bill’s a romantic.”

Maybe I didn’t get his drift, and I think I blushed, because Bill had read me poetry, and played an old, romantic LP by Rod McKuen.

He also owed me so much money from playing gin while we dated that I said that’s why he married me. He also painted my fingernails on my right hand when I asked, and painted my toenails because he liked to do it.

Soon we were a couple.

Bill and Barb.

Partners in life in 1971.

We dealt with our children. Me getting upset because I didn’t cook spaghetti the way their mother did, or because the youngest daughter’s fried chicken leg was bleeding. Him because my son was used to me counting to three before he did what he was told. Later, his oldest daughter moved in with us and that made getting ready for work and school take longer with one tiny bathroom.

He taught me to play bridge because I think he was a teacher in a former life. He loved to explain anything, and everything, including how to make a watch.

In 1978, we moved to Hennessey and began testing our marriage at higher levels: he became publisher of his family’s newspaper, and I the managing editor.

We knew the paper wouldn’t support our family, and he kept his paying PR job in OKC for three years so I’d get paid.

What could possibly go wrong?

Separate offices and personal checking accounts, and remarkable people on staff, made it work.

We tried to keep our personal life at home, though everyone in the office could tell when there was a chill in the air.

Our arguments at the office always had to do with the work. I’d question why he didn’t put something in a story, and he’d ask me why I included something in mine.

We still folded our king-size sheets together, and he helped me make the bed.

There were lots of all-nighters at the office, and I was amazed when we went to the Parkerhouse one morning at 5:30 for breakfast. I felt sorry for those people who had to get up so early, and Bill said, “Are you crazy, woman? We haven’t even gone to bed yet!” Years passed and our

Years passed and our attorney friends, who also worked together, and us, were the only two couples not divorced in our three table card club.

What could possibly go wrong?

By 2011, we started to slow down. Bill’s health issues got worse which meant I lost my work partner and safety net, so we sold the paper Dec. 31, 2013.

He was 78, I was 69, and stayed on to help the new owners as long as I could, then went to work for the KT&FP.

Bill and I had a great ride together.

We were married 50 years ago: August 20th, or 21st.

I could never remember our anniversary date, but Bill did. He’d always have a romantic anniversary card on my pillow that morning, and sometimes another card on the toilet seat.

The man who never promised me a rose garden, but made me fall in love with him, died May 8, 2017.

Later, I found a stack of pristine lovey-dovey anniversary cards in the back of his sock drawer. There was also another card: “I love you more today,” was written on the front, and inside, “because yesterday you really ticked me off.”