Newlywed Love (#32)

February 13-14, 1970

Since the first of the year, I had been chipping away at writing thank you notes for the hundreds of wedding gifts Nate and I had been blessed to receive. Although my original goal was to write 5 of them each evening (with more on weekends), I couldn’t keep up that pace. And though I had long since ditched that goal, little by little I was actually making progress.

Valentines DayThe week before Valentine’s Day, I was highly motivated to be extra diligent in my note-writing…. because Mom and Dad were coming.

I knew Mom would ask how many thank you’s I’d written so far. Most of our gifts had come from friends in her generation, and timely thank you’s were a must. People needed to know their gift had been received and that it was appreciated.

Earlier in the week a letter had come from her, detailing their weekend arrival and departure schedule. She had also written a few encouraging lines about my thank you notes:

“Many, many people tell me they are receiving “unusual” letters of thanks from you, Margaret. You’d be amazed at what the difference is when a bit of extra is put into such notes. You would be greatly surprised at how many people have mentioned your letters to me.”

Mom's letter

I had to admit I was giving the process my all, more for Mom than the recipients of the notes. Not wanting to disappoint her, I had taken up her challenge to put something personal into each one. And it did make me feel better than if I’d written generically – though it took a great deal longer.

Nate was my faithful cheerleader and sometimes stood next to me, asking to read a note aloud. His laudatory comments and nonstop appreciation spurred me on. And he was especially tickled if he read a note thanking for any gift made of “monkey pod wood” — something new and popular at the time for salad bowls and their utensils.

If he came across those 3 words, “monkey pod wood,” inevitably he would double over with laughter so intense he’d have to brush tears away. Then his laughter would make me laugh, and the silly joke was so potent I didn’t dare use our monkey pod salad bowls if guests were over. It became one of those inside jokes between a husband and wife that no one else understood, a little secret between just the two of us.

First time fondueWhen Mom and Dad came, they brought Aunt Agnes, and we introduced the three of them to the art of fondue. It was hilarious watching their expressions as we explained how dinner was going to be made.

And as they got into the process, their focus on cooking was intense. We all laughed each time a chunk of food would slip from their forks and disappear into the oil. When that happened, their comments were side-splitting funny. Aunt Agnes spent most of the meal on her feet, standing guard over the pieces of her dinner.

Ice CapadesThe next day we took them to the university arena where we saw the Ice Capades, a new show none of us had ever seen. Although Mom thought the girls’ costumes left too much flesh exposed, she had to admit the skating was phenomenal.

After that mid-afternoon performance, they had to hightail it back to Wilmette for evening commitments there, and Nate and I chalked up another happy connection with our relatives.

Although we forfeited our privacy whenever people visited, we had a lifetime to enjoy each other and knew we shouldn’t be selfish about sharing our lives and our home. Besides, it was always so much fun after guests were gone to once again be alone — together.

“Don’t forget to do good and to share…. These are the sacrifices that please God.” (Hebrews 13:16)

Newlywed Love (#6)

December 15, 1969

GiftsAs the days passed toward our one month anniversary, it was time to get serious about writing thank you notes. The task was daunting, and in 1969, tradition dictated that the bride wrote them all. I loved to write and didn’t have trouble saying what my heart was feeling, but several hundred of them? Overwhelming.

Nate encouraged me to write 5 each evening, starting at the beginning of our gift record book and proceeding straight through. “Maybe on the weekends you could write a few more than that,” he said. “And then they’d all be done by the end of March.”

Keeping up that kind of steady pace sounded like a test of self-discipline I didn’t have, but I set up a little “writing corner” on a metal TV tray in our still-sparse apartment – a pen, note cards, and our record book.

Note cardsWhen we’d ordered the wedding invitations, we’d also requested note cards with our married title on the front, and envelopes to match. So as I opened the first one to begin writing, I got sweet encouragement by reading that lovely new identification: Mr. and Mrs. Willard Nathan Nyman. Looking at that over and over would spur me on.

One side benefit of writing thank you’s was the regular conversations I had with Mom when I called for addresses. She encouraged me to go at it with enthusiasm, although she added some healthy pressure. “People were very generous to you and Nathan,” she said, “so try to be generous with your words as you write. Make each note card very personal.”

And so I began…. but by the end of the first week, I had already fallen behind. After a long day of teaching with an hour commute at each end, the higher priority for my evenings was to spend time with my new husband. He, too, wanted to be together “to play a little” after a day of high stress.

Also, I was still figuring out how to cook, and after we’d eaten a minimal dinner, we’d often take a long walk around the neighborhood. Holding hands as we went, we’d dream out loud about some distant day when we might own a house like the ones we passed as we walked.

Neighborhood.

Pointing to an English Tudor I’d say, “That’ll be my house.” He preferred a saltbox colonial or anything else with symmetry. Talking about owning a home some day and a togetherness that stretched that far into the future warmed me in some hidden place deep inside, and both of us felt a gentle peace in knowing we’d always be together.

“In all toil there is profit.” (Proverbs 14:23)