Originally Posted by Mary Ellen

I met my one and only in my paternal grandmother's parlor.

I thought he was there to court my aunt, who is just shy of being 5 years older than I am.

I kept thinking he was all wrong for her, but sure did fit my list, and yes, I really had a list of qualities I did and did not want in a husband. And I prayed over that list and how to meet this guy..or should I admit to nagging the Lord over the matter?

When my aunt momentarily left the room for some forgotten reason, he moved over to sit closer to me. Oh, what to do, what to do...if he was there for her, I had no business even considering him, plus I was "too young"...but I was so "taken" with him.
Having written the list in secret, and knowing it so well, having prayed over it so very, very often, I kept mentally comparing the list to him, and finding he even had some lovely qualities I had not thought to put on my list.
And he was cute too.
We never dated.
We were also never left alone, because everyone tells me that they could see the way we felt about each other, it was so "obvious". They also say that when we are in the same room, that look is still in our eyes.

Later, as I discussed the issue with my aunt, she just laughed and told me she had arranged for him to be there specifically to meet me. And no, she had never seen my list.

He proposed to me a week before his birthday that same year, and then waited 5 years to marry me, to the day...no dating, no vodio dough...He said he never wanted to forget either date...so made it just before his birthday by design.

After 35 years of marriage, as I lay "dying" in the hospital, pondering if I should let myself go, and ease his burden or allow them to torture my body more so I might live... (doctors had told him it would only be a matter of hours, not knowing I heard them) ...I whispered to him that he should look for a new wife, not just live alone and lonely...he said I better fight this thing...{he had started bringing quilt UFO's to pin up in my hospital room}...said he would rather they cut off his arms & legs than loose me...another wife? Im not done with you yet, you have too many unfinished projects to die on me. Who would finish them, and who is writing the book?
Six weeks later I was discharged.

I have never read a poem or a card that helped me see how much a man can love a disabled, sickly woman, as the words he gave me that day...he is a man who puts a value on his day according to what he was able to get done...cut off his arms and legs, and his days would have no value. He would be miserable the rest of his life.

In that hospital room was not so much as one piece of clothing that was mine... But we had to get two carts to carry out all the stuff he had toted to my room to inspire, uplift and keep me thinking about life, living and "finishing projects". I could not focus to thread a needle, and could barely find the strenth to hold a spoon, or pen, let alone sew and quilt. I was discharged wearing an outfit a daughter brought me to wear that same day...

I usually only get out to go to the hospital or the doctors.
He does the shopping, even for fabrics, and always brings back a piece that is perfect for what ever project needed some little piece to look just right. He has a real eye for color and balance, and a true appreciation for the work I do.
If he knows about a yard sale, he stops and shops with the thought of not only what we need and staying within the budget, but also what can he bring me home to make my day.
When our adult children say "doesn't mom have enough craft junk already?" He tells them that he doesn't care if the bins of stuff reach the ceiling, if it makes me happy and keeps me going.

He makes me stuff...like hand cut plexi templates, or wooden quilt racks, drafts me up blocks by hand for the small size I want them...and presses the yardage when it's laundered, for a border...figured out that crafters have stuff posted on You Tube...and found me this quilting board.

Since Hurricanes Ivan & Dennis, all my stuff has been in storage in plastic bins...yes, stacked to the ceiling, where I can't get at it, but neither can the water, bugs and critters. He is creating a room that I can claim as all mine for crafting, quilting and "storage" I can access. I can no longer climb stairs, so a vacant bedroom up there will not work. I can hardly wait.
Rather than the motto "she who dies with the most fabric wins", I would rather imagine that I live long enough to get all my projects finished, and given to those I made them for, as gifts of love.

The quilt I am making as a testiment for our love combines two "special blocks"...the outer block is Feathered Star, the center of each Feathered Star is a small Mariner's Compass...
His boss bought me the fabrics as a gift. Hand batiked fabrics (all in blue & white) from South Africa...a small bin worth.

I wish we could have had our grandchildren first...the "children" drive me up the wall sometimes...so on those days their HIS, but when they are good, they are ours, now on those rare times when they are extraordinary, they are mine...LOL

4 adult children and 11 grandchildren, so far. Also 2 Morgans (Romeo & Juliet), 2 Shetland Ponies (Little Ceasar and Mr Ed), 1 Mastif (Gracie) and one Cocker-Poo (Sandy-boy).

I also have one long term (over 10 years) lady quilt friend that comes here, and even transports me to and from the hospital...as I can't climb up in my husband's big truck.
Sometimes, when I am having an exceptionally good day, after we have been to the doctors, she will sneak me into a fabric store to have a look at what is currently on the market.

My husband was in the Navy for 22 years, and Naval Reserves for 10. Except when he had sea duty and went out to sea, I went everywhere with him...
It can be hard to keep a good friend when you live in a military town...and we retired at his last duty station. By then, we already knew I needed to stay by a military hospital. So having a friend for 10 years is amazing for me.