Page 44 - Senior Link Magazine Winter 2018- Online Magazine

David Colleen Eppler
That Kind of Love
by Betsy Anderson
t’s about 7:30 on a Friday
morning, and I’m sitting next
Ito my husband on the couch
drinking coffee. We share a quilt.
He puts his end over his feet, and
I pull mine up over my shoulders.
The tattered keepsake from my
childhood is our favorite blanket in
the house. The Austin heat makes
heavier blankets unnecessary and
almost oppressive, depending on
the time of year. The thin cotton
squares of fabric sewed by my
grandma’s long fingers – the
same fingers my mom has, the
same fingers I have – provide us
with the perfect
shield against the
morning chill.
Luke reads the
day’s headlines
on his phone,
and I pick up
my latest book
on comparative
religion. One of
our cats curls
up in the TV
cabinet next to the
internet router.
The other finds a
spot between Luke and me. This
is our daily routine. This is the life
we share, and I love it so much.
As I run my hand over the fine
threads that my grandma used
to tie the backing of the quilt to
44 Lubbock Senior Link
its pink, green, and blue top, I
think about the time that went
into it. Like this blanket that
Luke and I share, our love,
too, is an inheritance passed
down from another generation.
Others paved the way, so we
could love the way we do. There
is probably no one who has
impacted Luke’s and my marriage
more than my parents. Their love
story hasn’t been a fairytale, but
it’s been real, and it’s been true. retirement, the company laid him
My dad was raised in Lubbock,
Texas. His dad worked as a
successful
clothing
salesman
for most of
his career,
providing
everything
his family
needed and
most of what
they wanted.
My Nana
stayed at
home, and
her time and
attention were entirely devoted
to her children. Dad was raised
to believe that his potential was
limitless. He was a dreamer, with
reason to assume that anything
and everything were possible.
Mom grew up in Spokane,
Washington. For most of his
life, her father was a typewriter
repairman. When he was nearing
off. He and my grandma began
cleaning houses and churches
to make ends meet. There was
never excess in the Kennicutt
home. Grandma specialized
in concoctions like “weenie
gravy” to stretch the family’s
grocery budget. Mom grew up
understanding how to work hard
and yet be thankful for every good
thing that came along.
In 1974, my parents met at Barry
and Edde Merrell’s wedding in
Washington. Dad was Barry’s best
man, and Mom was Edde’s maid of
honor. Barry and Edde had looked
forward to the chance to introduce
their best friends. The two made
their intentions clear and didn’t
miss an opportunity to express
their shared conviction that Mom
and Dad were meant to be. After a
few awkward days of pre-wedding