Meanderings: A voice from the past
Just about a year ago, I said farewell to the friends, community, and job that had been my life for 15 years. I continue to proudly claim Marion as home.
Yet I have no regrets. I am happier each day, because I am with my wife. Experts make a lot of money on television, radio, and in books and magazines, talking about the difficulties of "the first year." My first year with Cheryl has been easy, mostly because I know what it is to be without her.
The wedding went fine, no thanks to the bride and groom. Thankfully, Cheryl's sister Jane took over as wedding planner. She politely, then not-so-politely, urged us to make decisions on formal wear, flowers, receptions, and the myriad other details. I would have been happy with a marriage in Vegas, but those little details really did make the day special.
I wasn't nervous. I practically napped in the sacristy, waiting for my cue to enter the church sanctuary. The only awkward part came at the vows. We had selected vows in which all we had to say was, "I do." So I took my beautiful bride's hand, looked deep into her eyes, and let the emotion well up within me. I couldn't speak even if I had to.
"Repeat after me," the priest said. "I, Matt, take you, Cheryl
Somehow, it didn't seem appropriate to declare "No, I don't have to say anything." So on the video, you see me whisper the first few words. Then my shoulders heave in a huge intake of breath. It looks like I'm preparing for a scene in "The Poseidon Adventure." But I was OK after that, and Cheryl was great, and the rest of the wedding went off without a hitch.
We took a honeymoon cruise in the Caribbean, which is a good thing to do in February in Iowa. The food was good, we met interesting people, and we swam with stingrays. It starts out as frightening, but they are adorable in a wet-leather-ugly sort of way. If you hold a squid in your hand, a stingray swims up, you experience a sensation not unlike a Eureka vacuum set on high, the squid is slurped out of your hand, and the stingray cruises off.
After our return home, I received a call from Don Westerhaus. (He and his wife, Anita, introduced Cheryl to me.) Don had a one-shot writing job for his boss. I took it, and before I left, it was mentioned that there was an opening on staff. I applied, and eventually was hired as an associate documentation specialist at Kemin Industries in Des Moines. Kemin makes nutritional ingredients — you won't see the name on a package at Carlsons', but a Kemin product is likely there. My job is to help draw up operating procedures, track employee training, and assist in other areas of quality assurance. It is like putting together pieces of a puzzle, and I look forward to work every day.
I'm even keeping my hand in the newspaper business, having been selected to serve on a citizen advisory committee to The Des Moines Register. It's a two-year term. We meet once a month with the editor to offer suggestions and discuss issues.
So I was with the woman I loved, and for the second time in my life, I had a job I enjoyed and co-workers I respected. I was thankful to God, and didn't ask for anything more.
"I'm late," Cheryl said.
So we went to a doctor, who congratulated us, and then told us all the things that could go wrong.
"You're over 35, so that classifies you as high risk," she said beamingly.
But the heartbeat remained strong, and the ultrasound discovered no problems. We selected the name Catherine Grace, and expect to see her in person around the first of the year.
Now, if I ever have trouble sleeping at night, I put my hand on my wife's tummy. Eventually, I am rewarded with a little kick, as Catherine Grace moves within Cheryl's womb.
I'm going to be a daddy.
Wow.
— MATT NEWHOUSE
