I’ve told bits and pieces of the circumstances of my marriage, but I don’t think I’ve told the whole story either in the MMP or in any other thread. With my anniversary pending, I thought this might be as good a time as any to share the tale. So gather around, my Mumpers.
Picture it, Sicily, 1983… 
I arrived in Jacksonville, FL in February of 1983 for duty in Patrol Squadron 45 (VP-45) as Materiel Control Officer. We deployed in April for 6 months in Sigonella, Sicily, so I didn’t have a chance to get to know anyone in Jax before leaving the country. However, I’d decided to look into sailing lessons, and when the squadron returned in October, one of the first calls I made was to the marina on base.
Lessons were scheduled to begin on Oct 30 with 3 evening classes a week for 2 weeks before we got out on the water. There were 6 of us in the class – an older couple, a guy on active duty, a woman reservist, a dependent son, and me. The instructor was a bearded guy in a velour pullover. The classes covered terminology, sailing theory, reading charts, rules of the road, emergency procedures – stuff like that there. The last night class of the second week was our first hands-on – we were to rig a sailboat – put up the sails, lead the sheets correctly, set the centerboard, generally get the little daysailer ready to go.
For you non-sailors, the sheets are the lines that control the sails – there’s one on the mainsail and 2 on the jib (the sail on the bow) – one on the left (port) and one on the right (starboard). It’s important to lead the jibsheets correctly so the sail doesn’t get fouled in the rigging and so you can control the sail trim. As my team was aboard, finishing our rig, the instructor told us to be careful not to let our sheets go into the water, at which point I said: “Because no one likes wet sheets.” He laughed, which was good, since it was my first wise-ass comment in that class.
Our next class meeting was on Saturday morning. We were divided into 2 groups of 3, and there was a second instructor to take one boat out. I was in the group with the active duty guy and the reservist. We went out with our instructor, and the new guy took the other 3. It was November 12, a chilly, breezy, perfect day for sailing. Out on the St. Johns River, we all took turns on the tiller and handling the sails, all while enjoying a gorgeous day. I guess we were doing OK because our instructor napped a couple of times.
We didn’t want to quit, but we were starving, so the instructor agreed we could go to lunch, then come back and sail some more. At the end of the day, the instructor asked me if I wanted to go out, as I’d indicated I had nothing to do that night. (He’ll tell a different version, but this is my thread…) So I went home and got cleaned up and we went out for pizza, then to the movies to see The Big Chill. Afterwards, he came back to my place and I made us some Kahlua and Cream. Except he didn’t drink. Oh well. We talked for a while, then agreed to go to the beach the next afternoon.
It was my first trek to Jacksonville Beach. We walked a mile or so, stopped for something to eat, then walked back. He told me about a falcon he used to have, we talked about ourselves and life and just everything. The conversation continued in the car and back at my place again, tho it had to be cut short because we both had to be up early the next day for work.
But before he left, he told me (not asked me) that I’d marry him. “Maybe in a year or in 10 years, but you will marry me.” He was pretty smart.
Fast forward to Dec 9. By that time, we’d gotten our blood tests, which were still required in Florida at the time. He had all but moved in with me, which saved him a lot of driving (he was living with his folks at the time – his divorce had just been finalized in July.) We arranged to meet and drive to Green Cove Springs at lunchtime that Friday. We went to the courthouse to get our license, then asked the clerk “Now what?”
Turns out, you don’t get married in the courthouse in Clay County, but in Florida, a notary can officiate. So we went down the street to Norris Bookkeeping and Accounting, and Betty Norris said the magic words and signed our license. A couple of her clerks signed as our witnesses. The bride wore khakis (I was in uniform) and the groom wore jeans (he didn’t have to be in uniform) and once the deed was done, we drove thru McD’s before heading back to base. One of the young sailors who worked for me was being court-martialed that afternoon and I had to be there as a witness. (He was kicked out of the Navy – he was kinda messed up.)
After work, we got gussied up and went out to dinner. The next day, we went to his folks’ house and he opened the conversation by saying, “Guess what we did yesterday?” They cried, and I’m sure they were concerned because he was just barely divorced and we’d just barely met. But I was accepted into the family from the start. A few weeks later, we drove to Baltimore to tell my parents. My dad’s first comment after we told them was “You’re not pregnant, are you?” They were a little slower to warm up to the idea, but ultimately, they accepted that we weren’t as stupid as we seemed to be.
If you did the math, you’ll have figured out by now that tomorrow is our 25th anniversary. My youngest sister, who is a character in her own right, gave us this – what more can I say? And for those who didn’t do the math, our first date was one day shy of 4 weeks before we married. And honestly, I don’t regret not having the foofy wedding. It’s been a good quarter of a century – we’ll see what the next 25 years bring…
Congratumalations on making it to 25 years, and may you have 25 more in your future.
:D) OK, seriously – I hope you can manage to get through college. Any way you can get a scholarship? (Single mom…?) Special rates on Student Loans…?