A blog by Lori Lyons
Showing posts with label marriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label marriage. Show all posts

Tuesday, June 10, 2025

Wedding Week

 



There's a brand new sparkly white dress hanging on the back of the door to the bedroom she hasn't lived in for a long time.

There's a sparkly white veil hanging on the mirror next to it.

There are a couple of boxes of new shoes.

Something new.

There is a small ancient hand-sewn bag embossed with the name "Evelyn."  It was my grandmother's, probably for her first communion. I carried this same bag at my wedding. Eveylyn is Lora Leigh's middle name.

Something old.

Our Trophy Room/office is filled with wreaths, silk flowers, photographs, frames and ribbons. There's also a pair of ivory silk baskets that once were filled with rose petals and carried -- on the day of my wedding --  by my stepdaughter and my niece.

Something borrowed.

Hopefully, all of it will come together this week at a venue called The Bank. It really used to be a bank back in the early 1900s, but now it's a unique, rustic wedding and party venue.

And Friday night it will be the site of my daughter Lora Leigh's wedding.

The little baby girl that Gail handed to me on that amazing January day nearly 25 years ago is getting married. She will put on that sparkly white dress, the sparkly veil and her new shoes. She will carry her self-made bouquet and her dad will walk her up to a fine young man named Gavin. She will become his wife. Then she will be changing the name her father and I gave her.

She will become a Branch.

Fitting don't you think? A new branch... branching out... leaving the next on our branch to create her own...

I will be sitting first chair, with a box of tissues, wearing my own sparkly dress and corsage. Blue. 

I am her Something Blue.

I've been trying not to, but I've been crying intermittently for weeks as I think about the event on the horizon. For some reason,  the song "Sunrise, Sunset" keeps rolling through my brain. 

And "Slipping Through My Fingers" from Mama Mia.

"A Thousand Years."

"My Girl"

"I Hope you Dance."

When she went off to college I made her a playlist of all the songs that said all the things I wanted to say to her as she left my nest. She says she listened to it. All of those songs are on it and many, many more that I hoped would explain what was in my heart.  I mean, even the best writers need a little help now and then saying what they want to say on occasions such as this. Especially when you're a crier like me.

What I want to say is, --

My darling girl,

 I waited for you forever, but you were the one I was meant to have all along. And you have filled my world with love and fun and all the colors of the rainbow.  You are the frosting on my cake, the ketchup in my red beans, the pickles in my chili Fritos. I was there when you were born (well, sorta) and I guided you through this life. I always tried to give you everything I could. Now you are a beautiful grown woman building a life of your own. My dandelion seed is flying..

I cry because I'm sad to see you go, but also because I have so much hope for your future.  I hope you love. and are loved -- fiercely.  I hope you are devoted to each other as your dad and I have been to each other. I hope you have fewer bumps in your road. I hope you continue to dream in color. I hope you dance and sing and laugh together.  I hope your skies are always blue. . 

And I'll be here for you as long as I can. Please visit often.

Love, Mom





Thursday, December 19, 2024

Cheers to 30 Years

 

1994 - 2024



When I first brought my boyfriend home to my parent's house in Houma, circa 1992, they were not thrilled.

It wasn't that I brought home some weird rando I had just picked up off the street. He was a nice guy I met through a co-worker. His name was Marty. He was well-known in the New Orleans area as a baseball coach. He had a job. A car. An apartment. 

But he also had an ex-wife and two young children, and my mama was not happy about it.

"She'll be in your life forever," Mama warned.

"You'll be raising someone else's children."

As Marty and I continued to date, fall in love, and start to plan a future, my mama's angst only continued to grow.

Finally, as the wedding date drew near, Mama accepted the inevitable.

"Go ahead and marry him. You'll be divorced in a year."

True story.

Although my Mama was a very successful and popular Tarot Card reader in the French Quarter of New Orleans in her later life, she was not much of a psychic.

We were married on a cold, rainy December 17, 1994 at Laura Plantation in Vacherie, Louisiana -- back when plantation weddings were still in vogue. And on Tuesday, December 17, 2024, Marty and I celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary.

 He came to me with an ex-wife who is indeed still in my life, as a friend. He also came with two children, Daniel, 8, and Courtney, 6. We received our daughter Lora Leigh in 2001. Now we have a daughter-in-law, two grandchildren, Robi and Laken, an angel, Parker, in heaven; and a soon-to-be son-in-law. Plus a few in-law/out-laws.

We've been through infertility, adoption failures, the adoption process, job changes, career changes, wins and losses, a pandemic, three high school and college graduations, a Hall of Fame induction, a wedding, a lost grandchild, lost parents and siblings, hurricanes, parents moving in, parents moving out, live-in nephews, live-in mamas, an empty nest, working together, and retirement. We are lucky that only in the last year have we faced any kind of medical issues -- his back and my eyes.

And we have handled it all together, with love and with grace for one another. We are a team. 

My mama knew she had blown this prediction pretty early on, after we made 10 then 20 years, and especially after she had to spend several of her last months living in our spare room. 

Every morning, Marty would make coffee and deliver it to her in bed -- just as he has done for me for the last 30 years. He also sat patiently and listened to her stories, some of which she had never even told me!

And towards the end, she started paying him small compliments.

"Marty's a good man."

And my favorite: "If you died, I would have a hard time believing Marty killed you." Because, you know, they always suspect the husband first.

Honestly, over the last 30 years of marriage and the two years leading up to it, Marty and I have gotten into exactly two of what anyone would call "fights." We just don't do it. For one thing, my husband is extremely non-confrontational. He doesn't like to fight so he won't. And the only person I ever really fought with was my mother, so that has made for a pretty perfect union if you ask me.

Also, my husband is a wonderful man. 

Yes, he brings me coffee every single morning.

He also does most of the grocery shopping.

He does the laundry because he found me one day nearly upside down in the washing machine trying to get the clothes out.  I put it all away, though, because I'm pretty persnickety about the closet we share. It's organized by color.

Dish soap used to really mess with my hands so he did most of the dishes. (We do not have a dishwasher!)

He can cook! He is in charge of the turkey on Thanksgiving. He makes a better roast than I do and we both love a good medium-rare steak.

He got us a pool and a walk-in shower, both of which I love.

Plus, every year since we've gotten married, he has taken me somewhere on our anniversary. 

For many years, it was The Grand Hotel in Point Clear, Alabama. That's where we went for our honeymoon because I read in one of my bridal magazines that you should choose a spot that you can return to often, and The Grand was listed as one of America's most romantic hotels. So, we went back again and again and again -- except the years it was closed by hurricanes or a pandemic.... And until they priced themselves right out of our budget. We just can't swing $300 a night plus food and gas.

But we loved all the lights and decorations, the Christmas trees in the lobby, the burning fireplaces and the tea and cookies in the afternoon. We loved staying in the main building because it was so rustic -- then they went and remodeled it. In 2022, we went to Fairhope, just up the road. We stayed in a normally priced hotel and drove to The Grand for a visit. 

We found a nice replacement for a while, though -- Margaritaville in Pensacola Beach. It was just  a little cheaper, especially in the middle of the week in December. We went there several times. It sold a few years ago and became the Pensacola Beach Resort. We haven't been back yet.

Of course, with work and life and live-in mamas and children, a trip wasn't always in the cards. Sometimes we just went to dinner -- Copeland's, Outback, Saltgrass. If money was tight, we occasionally just cooked our own damn steaks.

We spent one anniversary at a lovely hotel in New Orleans. Went to The Carousel Bar and Port-O-Call for dinner.

For our 25th Marty asked me: Do you want a party or a trip? Now, I love a good party! But I knew damn good and well that if we were to have a 25th anniversary party, I would be the one doing all the planning and all the work. We went to Disney World, just the two of us. It was wonderful.

We always try to do something special to mark the occasion and it almost always involves food. Sometimes drinking. Sometimes shopping. A lot of hand-holding and kissing.

This year, we were going to go to Pensacola to The Paradise Inn, which is very much within our budget! But, it's still Christmas. Then we decided to just drive to Biloxi. But then we just said screw it. 

This year for our 30th, we went to the mall. I got a Chik Fil A peppermint shake, Marty got an ice cream cone, and we sat and watched people walk -- something Marty is having a little trouble doing these days. I have eye troubles, but on this day, I could see pretty clearly. Then we drove to LaPlace for dinner at a local restaurant we often overlook but will no longer! It was fabulous! 

I had a cocktail, a steak, the most delicious potatoes, and they gave us a delectable chocolate cake. Soooo worth the drive and the climb up the stairs. Then we came home and watched "White Christmas" for at least the 30th time. 

We believe staying married for 30 years is an accomplishment worth celebrating -- especially since we both retired this year and are spending a lot more time together. It's not always a smooth ride, but we each have our hobbies and interests to give us our own space. We launched a little podcast to talk about sports -- which is one thing we do have in common. I'm still doing a little bit of writing and he loves to Uber drive. 

As a lifelong journalist, the 30 is a meaningful number.  We use it, along with what used to be called the pound sign  or the number sign but is now known as a hastag -- # -- to signify the end of copy. It was used to let editors know that there was no more to the story. 

So in this case, instead of #30 I am going to use <30 because this is not the end of our story! 


<30


Click to watch us grow old together.... December 17 slideshow



Monday, June 23, 2014

Trouble in paradise


When my husband Marty and I first started dating some 22 years ago, there were those who said we'd never last.

He certainly wasn't what I was looking for in a husband -- the tall, dark, handsome guy with rock hard abs and a well-diversified 401K. No, Marty was short, kind of roundish, had more of a keg instead of a 6-pack, and he was paying child support to his ex-wife for his two kids.

But he was cute and funny and he liked to dance and he thought I was pretty cool, being a trailblazing female sports writer and all. He wasn't one of the guys who asked me how I could write about football when I never played it. And he thought it was cool that I got to go to really good baseball games. He even offered to go with me to one, then stood me up.

But we ended up together somehow, and we've shot down all those naysayers.  This December we will celebrate 20 years of wedded bliss. And it has been mostly bliss. When I tell you that I can remember exactly two arguments between us, I am not exaggerating. Two. I can't tell you what they were about, though. I just know that one time I stormed out and, with no place really to go, I drove myself to Walmart and refused to answer my cell phone for a couple of hours.

This is why we do not have a reality show

We have been this perfect little sports couple, he the coach, me the sports writer, both of us going to games, watching games, talking about games, reliving games planning our lives around games -- both his and mine.

Until now.

As you probably know by now, my husband decided that the 2014 high school baseball season was going to be his 25th and final one. He announced this big decision last year, rather innocuously on his own little blog, but then it blew up into 5, 6, 10 and front page news. And then he got to turn the final season into his very own Farewell Tour, which also garnered 5, 6, 10 and front page news.

Yeah, well now it's over. The season and the career. And, if things keep going the way they are, our marriage soon will be over too. It's only been two months and the man is driving me crazy. He is coach without a team, a man without a mission, a retiree without a hobby. He doesn't play golf, or cook, or garden, or clean the house, he doesn't have a girlfriend and he isn't handy. That means he's just IN MY WAY.

You see,  I have a routine. I get up every morning at 7 a.m. At 7:30, I go walk. At 8:30 ish I come back all hot and sweaty and all I want to do is sit down and cool off. I usually do that by sitting at my computer and seeing what's going on in the world. But since he's RETIRED, The Coach has taken over MY computer. I come home and he's in my chair, all cool and collected and relaxed, sipping coffee and cruising the Internets. Not only that, he's watching some stupid YouTube video that you and I and the rest of the world watched and enjoyed some two years ago, while he was playing baseball. And he wants me to watch it now.

Coach: Come see this cool video of this whale being rescued by fishermen!
Me: I've seen it.
Coach: Really? When?
Me: Oh.. a few years ago. Want me to tell you how it ends?
Coach: %*#(%*^

Later in the day he watches baseball, non-stop, on the MLB Network. But now that he's a coach without a team, a manager without men, he has no one to talk baseball with except me. I don't really mind. I do love baseball. It's the film sessions I can do without.

Coach: (remote in hand) Watch this play. (Rewinds the game)
Me: 0_0
Coach: See where the third baseman is? (Rewinds again.) He's playing the lines! (Rewinds again.) Why is he guarding the lines in this situation? (Rewinds again) He just cost his team the game!!
Me: 0_0

OK. Truth be told, things did get a little better last week. My husband is coaching a group of college-age boys in a local summer league. Many of the players are his own former players who went on to star at LSU, UNO, ULL and other places. They're some good ones. Being a coach again put a little extra hitch in his giddyup - bum knee and all.  He's back to making lineups and talking pitching and running off to games. Unfortunately, there are no practices to run off to, but it's enough to get him out of the house a few times and out of my way. He's happy. I'm happy. And we're not tripping over each other as much.

Our marriage is saved! (Maybe.)