February 17, 2012
- Be Careful What You Wish For
- NW ballerina in a surprising Gothic mys...
- So You Want to Be a Fashion Designer
- The ultimate design behind our lives
February 17, 2012
– Silver Prize Winner (2/2) for our “Love” Writing Contest.
– Winners are being featured all this week.
Because there were no available jobs in the early 1950’s, we moved to Oregon. Our two-year- old son, my husband and I rented our Arizona house then rode on a Greyhound bus for 33 hours to Oregon. Bill’s knowledge of the new resins that he gained at the Goodyear plant making experimental “p-tubes for fighter jets” made him just the guy for a plant which manufactured glass-resin boats.
We stayed with his parents for the first few months, then were able to rent a little place with floors so slanted the mop water at the high end ran down to the low end.
Bill came home depressed a few weeks before our 3rd anniversary. The boat company, unable to sell the boats it produced, closed its doors. He looked for work in vain. Daily he answered ads, but there were no jobs. We didn’t want to move back to his parents. As our anniversary neared, neither one said anything. Our pantry, like Mother Hubbard’s cupboard, was bare. He came home late on the day of our anniversary with a bag of groceries.
“Let’s put our son to bed early and have a late night dinner by candlelight and enjoy our special day,” he said with that magic smile of his.
My heart leaped with happiness. We did just that. He had purchased hamburger, two potatoes, lettuce, a candle, and some ice cream. We laughed, as we remembered our wedding candles and how they had bent over in the extremely warm church, eating this memorable dinner.
A week later, Bill found a good job managing an Art and Engineering Store. His art and theater background came in handy for the new TV station who hired him to build their sets.
Eventually, he had a long-running daily show. Later he produced some Hollywood films.
One day, I asked him where he got the money for that candlelight anniversary dinner. He grinned, “The Red Cross.” In the 50’s the Red Cross used to pay $25.00 for blood donations.
Unlike Tevye in “Fiddler on the Roof” who asked Golda, “Do you love me?”
I never felt it necessary to ask him if he loved me. He sold his blood to provide a happy anniversary which said ‘I love you’ loud and strong.
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