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When You Marry a Man Who’s 50
I never expected to change Dave — except to make sure he had plenty of clean clothes ready, and to remind him to hang up the bath towels. (They stay fresh longer that way.) After all, we were 50 when we decided to marry each other. Already shaped by a lot of living!
But in small ways, life quickly became better for both of us. Dave could get “out and about” much better with a partner who helped him handle his physical challenges; I could explore more poetry, history, religion, and politics because I had someone to discuss it all with; and together we visited more wonderful eateries and traveled widely to buy from used bookstores. The delight of always having someone to talk books with — well, that was huge for both of us.
Some little things stayed as they had already settled: We kept our own bank accounts, for example, simply agreeing on who would pay which bills. I remained the person who mostly talked with my grown sons, although I shared them with Dave when he was in the mood; he did the same with his father, younger sister, and aunt-but-de-facto-big-sister, DM.
Still, some surprises poked up.
