Arranged Marriages

“Do you take this woman to be your wedded wife? ...this man to be your husband? Do you promise to love, cherish,......?

A wedding seems to be the highlight of any life to a person who weds well. Today’s society is beginning to recognize marriage as between two persons, in some cases persons of the same sex, but I won’t get into that now. What I’m thinking of is the idea of arranged marriages. Can someone else do a better job of bringing two people together than the principal parties themselves? The Western world would say no, that the idea is antiquated. Or is it? The Internet match makers are doing quite well. I believe though that the heart and the head need to stick together when contemplating marriage in order to make it work.

My first marriage was arranged. Well, close to that. My grandmother was the matchmaker. My second marriage? I think some angel got in on the act because I certainly had no expectation or desire to marry again. Forty years with a good man was enough. A part of me went with him when he died, but the empty space it left caught me up unexpectedly and boom! Cupid’s arrow hit home. I had another seven plus years of happily married life. Now I’m alone again, have been for about six years, and happy to stay in a state of single blessedness. Besides, I doubt that there’s anyone out there who’s looking for the job of matchmaker for the likes of me. They’d say, “At your age? Don’t push your luck, lady! You’ve had it good!”

So, how were my marriages arranged? I’m going to try to tell it in as few words as possible:

First husband, Lt. Col. Wallace G. Wethe USMC 

When a little boy 

he knew me as a baby girl.

Families were friends

who soon moved apart.

Miles apart. Years went by,

war took him away,

but Grandmother 

knew, and when I came

to stay, live with her,

go to school, she

set his picture on the mantle.

Handsome too!

Wrote letters, with post scripts by me, 

to that fighter pilot somewhere

in the great South Sea. 

WWII but he came back safe,

met the grown-up me,

Where else? At Grandma’s,

of course. Took me out 

on dates, then asked for my hand.

Grandma just smiled!

Forty years of many homes,

three children and fun.

Struggles too, but growing like one.

They called me a widow.

I thought so too.

But little did I know what

was yet coming to view.

Second Husband, Dr. Forbes S. Robertson PhD

Fifty-three years after

the walk down the aisle

a widow for twelve,

a summer school for adults.

Met him through friends,

a lonely man who

had been married too,

for fifty years "and three months"

(don't forget those!) 

six years widowed.

We were partners at bridge.

School friends only, until

a walk in the moonlight,

a kiss on the path,

struck as by Cupid,

later to laugh at how

could this happen to

people our age? We felt

like kids, parked in the car.

School almost over, what then?

Our homes were too far for 

courting like folks say we 

should do, the sensible way.

We jumped on the carriage,

the one that's spelled marriage.

Happy years, those seven, 

with cruises and friends, 

card parties, families, 

concerts and home.

Hearts held together

‘till another goodbye. 

But good memories and love,

These never end, love doesn't die.

A Grandma and Cupid,

"arranged" weddings for me.

I could not have done better,

my life has been good,

as well you can see.

That’s it in a crude pencil sketch and old-fashioned rhyme. Fill in the outlines with color and music, the happiness of love known twice. Two different men, decent and fair.  Doubled our children and grandchildren too. And now I’m thinking how “love and marriage (do) go together like a horse and carriage,” The horse is the heart, alive and faithful, pulling us home. The carriage, the head, wise and true, making the trip comfy and safe.

Arranged by whom? I think more than Grandmother. Or even Cupid. I think the old saying that good marriages are made in Heaven must be true. What an arrangement is that!