Married Life

It was a weird, dismal year and as it came to a close, Holly and I decided to end it on a nice, albeit more weird, note.

We got married on New Year’s Eve. During a rain storm. In a lumber yard. By a justice of the peace who was an obsessive St. Louis Cardinals fan and who was uniting two Chicago Cubs fans. When he learned we were Cubbies, and thus mortal rivals of his team, he joked about not doing the service.

I told you it was weird.

We planned on getting hitched in 2021, but after reviewing 2020, we thought it would bring decent closure to a year wracked with distraught, mayhem, fear and uncertainty. Also, Holly countered, it would provide a nice tax break for all the freelance writing I had done last year. I’m romantic and economically stupid. She’s practical and financially wise. If not made in heaven, it was a match made in a bank statement.

We got the marriage license at 4 p.m. on New Year’s Eve. Since I worked in the courthouse with the prosecuting attorney’s office, the clerks there knew me and it was a quick process. We got home by 5:30 p.m.

Then, we talked. What if we got married that day? I called a justice of the peace who said he’d meet us at 7 p.m. at his place of work, a hardware store and lumber yard just off the interstate that runs through town. The quick response had to be a sign that this was a good plan and at 6:30 p.m., we were headed to the business.

Here’s the back story: I met Holly in September 2015 after “talking” with her on Facebook for a couple of years. She was friends with an APBA player and I met her through him.  She was selling her house just north of Chicago that fall of 2015 and, after the newspaper where I worked told me I needed to go on vacation, I offered to go up there and help her.

She agreed and at 6:03 p.m., Saturday, Sept. 26, Holly got into my car and we were on our first “date” to buy toilet seats. The next evening, we watched for a lunar eclipse that was blocked by a large cloud over Lake Michigan. I was smitten.

I often returned to Chicagoland the following seven months to see her. In June, she sold her house, but her plans to get an apartment in her town didn’t work out and instead she moved to Arkansas with me.

We planned then to get hitched and even got the marriage license. But life stepped in. She made frequent trips back to Libertyville, Ill., to see her mother who was in a nursing home. Holly didn’t want to get married and then be gone half the time. Also, adapting to life in Arkansas and with me was difficult at first.

But we forged on, creating a strong relationship that led to our New Year’s Eve adventure.

The justice ushered us through the hardware store and into his office. Hung on the walls were picture of St. Louis Cardinals teams. He had one of the 1967 team and I mentioned that was the year they beat Boston’s Miracle Team in the World Series. There were team pictures from 1987, 2004 and 2011, other years the Cards made it to the Series. I told him I went to Game 5 in St. Louis when they played the Minnesota Twins in 1987. He said he was at Game 4 in 2004 where the Red Sox swept the Redbirds.

Holly, who has the patience of a saint, began rolling her eyes. Sports talk was delaying our ceremony. I told him I really didn’t like the Red Sox, both for that2004 Series and because my father grew up in New York and was a Yankees fan. Our mutual dislike of Boston’s team salved any rivalry wounds between the Cardinals and Cubs and he began the service.

It was perfect. Tucked in an office in a hardware store and lumber yard, we professed our love. Truthfully, when he asked Holly if she would “take me in lawfully wedded matrimony,” I had a moment of fear, thinking she may say “No,” or in her Illinois’ accent, “Heck, no.”

But she agreed and within about 10 minutes, we were wed.

The justice read a nice prayer and we were official.

Nothing has changed with our wedding. I was devoted to her during the 4.5 years we were not married. I learned then that men are always wrong and women were always right. I learned women’s moods changed for no reason and asking “what’s wrong?” was like stepping on a land mine. I was perfect for marriage.

Nothing changed. But everything changed. I have more Fear of being a good provider. I’ve got five freelance stories due for magazines and newspaper in two weeks; I may have outdone myself in meeting deadlines, but it’s extra pay and that helps.

And this is weird, but I’ve felt a massive peace come over us since we got married. We’re still stressing over not having enough money, which a majority of the country does, but I’m not as crazy about it. That’s not to say being married has dulled my senses. Instead, and here’s the religious part, maybe being blessed has helped. A county deputy clerk mentioned that when I returned to work the following week. “You feel peace, don’t you?” she asked. I was surprised, but told her I did. She understood.

And, friends offered congratulations. Women at work were ecstatic. A detective in our office jokingly gave condolences. He had been through a bad divorce. Another guy friend made a vulgar joke about why women smile when getting married. Another was happy for us, but then brought up his own ugly divorce. I’ve discovered that men talk about their divorces like women talk about their pregnancies. Both are painful, but then when finished, there’s bliss.

One girl, whose known us since the beginning, texted one word upon notification of our wedding.

“Finally,” she wrote.

And, the APBA connection. If not for the game, I’d not have met Holly. Our mutual friend was David Yamada, a game player and the most intelligent Facebook friend I have. Holly abides by my APBA obsession and has even bought me a few seasons. She’s rolled for the 1991 Cubs during my replay of that season and acts interested in my game recounts of the 1965 season I’m now replaying.

It’s weird. I’m married now. But it’s a fitting end to a really weird year.