Skip to content

Just the Two of Us!

January 24, 2012

There’s an add doing the rounds on television for a new car, don’t ask me which one, they all look the same to me, where some young pup has asked his go-to girl to marry him.  She lists off the things she needs to do first, like learn the drums (cue shot of car boot being loaded with said drum set) and all other sorts of radical, goofy, “remember, I’m an individual!” life activities before she melts into his arms with a quivering  . . .”yes!”  And off they drive, into the sunset of life together.  All the way to the land of the happy ever after!

Something familiar about this.  Hmmm, now I remember!  Ed never really proposed, not in any official way whereby declarations of love (undying) and life-changing (won’t be the same without you etc) forces fell from his bended knee and outstretched hands, complete with the razzle-dazzle blinding bling of diamond love.  No, we were simply hanging around together, in the house of sin we shared at the time. Tough being a trailblazer but the shame we brought upon our families what with . . . living together! Ed’s father took it the hardest.  He was Dr Catholic, pillar of the parish, father of seven of whom Ed was the first. Everyone went to Dr Streams for everything. Except birth control.  That was an out of town dress down experience.

No, Ed simply wanted to know what I thought about the idea of us getting married.  This was fine with me, more than happy to go ahead with putting the idea into reality but only if he promised that we would eventually  (when we had enough money), go travelling together.  Didn’t matter where but just out of the here we happened to have been stuck in forever.  Such a simple decision really, particularly when viewed in the light of later agonies of indecision over which bathroom tiles, or which colour paint to choose. What hormonal haze and daze were we under then that made the decision to get married so easy, so stunningly simple?

The wedding was so easy to organise.  Neither of us were particularly bothered with the details.  We skipped the whole engagement process. No ring, no announcements, no parties. Cut to the chase and straight to the wedding.  Which Dr Streams, born party-goer and bon vivant, was happy enough to detail. And happy enough to throw open his family house for the reception.  Not sure how thrilled Mrs Streams was with this and I am embarrassed to remember now that back then she was still the mother of young children but she was a brick and really rather good at doing as she was told. A good woman, she knew her place.

We said “I Do” and walked the short distance from church to the Stream family home for the celebrations in the midst of which my now father-in-law took us aside to let us us know that if I wanted to know what to call him, we should call him “Grandpa, as soon as possible please!”

How we chuckled to ourselves, winking and twinkling with the eyes of love which had plans for packing the bags and heading off into so many different sunrises and sunsets, into a vista of far-reaching horizons.

Just the two of us, the whole world at our feet!

Advertisements
7 Comments leave one →
  1. January 24, 2012 8:53 pm

    Sounds nice!

  2. January 25, 2012 2:42 am

    Tell us more Sandy Steams! How is it now? Are you sill “Just the two of us”? Did you travel?

    • January 26, 2012 10:20 pm

      TMarie, there is so much more to tell about this journey, but yes, still the two of us (with a few additions along the way) and yes, we are still travelling on!

  3. January 25, 2012 5:03 am

    That is kinda just sad and depressing.

  4. January 26, 2012 10:22 pm

    I’m so sorry, now I am sad . . . I always find a good coat of lipstick helps cover the bad days.

Trackbacks

  1. From Here to Maternity « Sandy Streams

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: