Ten years ago,

we celebrated my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary in the fellowship hall at Zion Mennonite with stewed beef and sauerkraut. The beef was tender and the sauerkraut, fragrant, as sauerkraut is wont to be, so you might not believe me when I say the whole business had romantic underpinnings, but then consider it was a rerun of the dinner served all those years ago at their reception. Never mind that some of us entertained ourselves by seeing how much sauerkraut we could trick our younger cousins into eating.

And then there was the music -- a flute-saxophone duet of Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" performed, to the accompaniment of strings on a CD, by yours truly and my dear cousin Steph. It sounds ill conceived, I know, but it was at least the third time we'd performed that little number -- the other two times being at church and the high school Christmas concert. Even so, it's safe to say grandpa and grandma were pretty unaffected by all the Titanic hype and, consequently, unmoved by our otherwise quite stirring (i.e. our moms liked it) rendition. There may also have been singing, but since maybe three out of the multitude of cousins aren't tone deaf, that's best forgotten.

We had punch, of course, and nuts and mints, which were plentiful thanks to the aunt who slapped down would-be snitchers when they came to set up tables and chairs earlier that afternoon. She later recounted the experience saying, quite succinctly, "I'm firm about my nuts." If that's not enough to scare one toward the straight and narrow, I don't know what is. I just don't.

But it's only now, being married for three years, that I can begin to grasp the enormity of what it means to be married for 50. A lot of life happens in 50 years -- heck, a lot of life has happened in 10: a dozen or so high school graduations, that many more from college, a handful of graduate school degrees, four businesses, four weddings, five great grandchildren and another on the way, Paul's passing, cancer, retirements, first jobs, first loves, promotions, transfers, houses bought and sold -- all along with the day-to-day tragedies and quiet miracles a family of 40-some accumulates on the way.

On January 16 my grandparents started on their 61st year of marriage. We celebrated much as we did 10 years ago. But instead of beef there was ham, and instead of singing (which grandpa and grandma lobbied for but were ultimately denied, for the greater good) or Celine, there were tributes and jokes and a power point that Mallory, bless her heart, put together with next to no notice, and instead of Al from Marion taking the family picture, it was Brenda. There were nuts and punch and (cream cheese) mints, per usual, because what celebration of note could be complete without those mints? And there was cake, but I'll tell you about later.

I can't imagine what it's like for grandpa and grandma to look back on the years since they first met at the barn dance -- or when grandpa called on grandma when she had the chickenpox, depending on what version of the how-we-met story one's gullible enough to believe. Love and all else aside, it's an uncommon gift to have someone by your side who's shared all that time, all those experiences that have shaped your perspective and, ultimately, who you've both become. So if you happen across my grandma at the store or at TOPS club, or if you see my grandpa hauling pop or doughnuts into town for the guys at Kevin's office, tell them congratulations. And marvel with them a little bit at the miracle of 60 years in love.