Fifty three years ago, I met the Love of My Life. Unfortunately, she was dating my best friend. Fortunately, she stopped seeing him because he wasn’t Jewish. Unfortunately, neither was I. Fortunately, she thought my last name was Green (could be Jewish) not Reed (not Jewish) (Catholic, actually). I was taken with her looks, her spirit, the way her smile and laugh lit up a room (and me). She was taken with me but didn’t know it yet. We broke up several times to please her parents and yet I persisted. A roommate told me I was digging my own grave. My senior year of college, she took my fraternity pin … surely a silly college ritual yet my Best Day, the day she said she’d be mine. We were married in a small ceremony at a reformed temple in Stamford, Connecticut on August 11, 1968, making today our fiftieth wedding anniversary.


Since then, there has been, as they say, a lot of water under the bridge. There have been thousands of dates, theater and movies and concerts and candlelight dinners. Date nights have been a mainstay of our marriage. There was a move from New England to California, where we adopted two children and made some of the best friends a couple could ask for. There were child-raising years when life and friends were wrapped around our children’s activities. There is nothing that makes one appreciate parents like raising children of your own, learning that it’s harder than it looked when you were a kid. We have both had careers we enjoyed, working hard at times but always putting family first. We have traveled to beautiful places. We have a lovely home, truthfully beyond our wildest dreams but this year we came very close to losing it in a California wildfire. That is to say, it hasn’t always been good or easy. But every challenge we’ve overcome has brought us closer. We’ve learned to treasure our similarities and appreciate our differences (Well, most of them. Some, we tolerate. With a smile. OK, once in a while, it’s a grimace). And we laugh at each other’s peccadilloes. Mostly.

In Judaism, there is the notion of Basheert, the woman a man was meant to marry. It is said that when a male child is born, G-d speaks the name of his Basheert from on high. I am not given to superstition or arcane religious legends. I’m not even sure I believe couples were meant to be. But I do know there is no way that arrogant little 20 year old that I was could have chosen the woman that would stand beside me through 50 years of marriage. I am a better man than I’d ever have been without her and I can’t imagine any other life. I guess that makes her my Basheert. Happy 50th Anniversary, Muri. I love you.


If you want to have the marriage we have, you have to go through what we’ve been through – Don and Evie M.

Explore posts in the same categories: love and marriage

One Comment on “Fifty”

  1. barrythewiz Says:

    You know how to make a grown man cry. Can’t wait until we get to celebrate with you. Luv you both.

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