Love Stories Series

Wilda and Ed Morris

  

 

Our Marriage Made of Miracles

By Wilda Morris

Ed and I were introduced by a mutual friend on the steps of a church in Washington, D.C. in 1961, a few days before we were each leaving our summer jobs to begin graduate school at the University of Illinois. My suitemate and I had a Halloween Party to which we invited all the girls on our wing of the dormitory and told them they could bring a boyfriend if they had one. Due to the small size of the suites, they invited them in shifts.

 I invited Ed to the last shift (which meant he would not have to leave promptly to make room for another shift). He finally got up the nerve to ask me to a game in January. From then on, we were a pair. The way the dorm was organized, I could see the window of his room. During the darker months, I would watch for his light to come on after his late afternoon class, calculate time, and pick up my phone just before it rang as he was calling to see if I wanted to go to supper at the Illini Union.

 We married on August 31, 1963. We adopted five children and have fifteen grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren. I have given Ed the same Valentine every year for three or four years and have squirreled it away to give him on Valentine’s Day next year. We consider faith, humor, forgiveness and luck to be among the keys to getting over the bumps in family life and having a happy, lasting marriage.

 

 

You Don’t Believe in Miracles?
    Beginning with a line by Tania Runyan

Isn’t this wonder enough
that the deep red rosebuds
you gave me in a silver vase
the night you proposed
soon spread their red petals
and opened themselves to the light?

Isn’t it wonder enough
that the squash seeds I threw
into the garden one fall
when the disposal was broken
sprouted the year we were broke,
producing an unexpected harvest?

Isn’t it wonder enough
that our daughter who survived
tumbles from trees, bicycle accidents
and a faint-induced fall
off the platform as she sang
grew into a fine, strong woman?

Isn’t it wonder enough
that our first granddaughter
who couldn’t sit, stand or walk
and never learned to talk
brightened whole rooms with giggles
when we pulled Velcro strips apart?

Isn’t it wonder enough
that we hike a woodland path
with grandchildren, spotting deer,
naming wildflowers, that we kneel
together watching leafcutter ants carry
more than their weight in leaves?

Isn’t this wonder enough
that a friend introduced us
on the steps of a D.C. church, both
headed for the University of Illinois,
and fifty years later we stand
on those same steps, hand in hand?
 

 

 

 

 Now that I have a fractured foot,

Ed, you are my grab bar, my shopper,
my taxi driver, my chauffeur,
my parlor maid and floor mopper.

You are my duster and vacuum sweeper,
my valet and baggage handler,
my manager and my keeper.

You are my counselor and priest
my comforter and foot massager;
if not my doctor, my nurse, at least.

My physical therapist and caterer,
my cook, my sous chef and my table setter,
my dish washer and, of course, my waiter.

You are my joker and my punner,
When not making me laugh, you are
my bank clerk and my errand runner.

You are truly my spirit booster.
For years, I was your little red hen
but now you are my faithful red rooster.

 

 

Love Letter

Maybe you think I keep you
like I keep my old shoes
because I can’t bear
to break in new ones
but that’s not the reason.
After all these years
you’re still a good fit,
still polished to a shine
in my eyes.
I want to be laced up with you
as long as I live.
 

 

Senior Love

As I flip through sheet music at the used book store,
Mule Train, Shrimp Boats and Mockin’ Bird Hill
take me back decades. I hear echoes of old friends
singing Hernando’s Hideaway, Sweet Violets
and Riders in the Sky. Lazy River slips by.
Mister and Mississippi make me feel at home again
while Ol’ Man River rolls on south.
I’m glad I didn’t heed the warning we sang back then:
Don’t Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes.
After all these years, it still is true
that I Love You a Bushel and a Peck.
and I know We’ve Only Just Begun.
Maybe, just maybe, for the two of us
It’ll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight.

All poems first appeared in Quill & Parchment. Except for Love Letter which was first published in Grab-a-Nickel.