60 years - Grandpa and Grandma Cows part two

Sixty years ago today Bette Bartlett Knapp (I guess she was still a Knapp then, I don't know, and never thought to ask until it was too late) married Jim Boutell. I don't know where this wedding happened. I don't know if it was in Michigan or at a courthouse or a church or anything. To the best of the family's recall, they don't know either. It's possible my dad was at the ceremony but since he looked like this after they were married, he doesn't remember.

Tommy Knapp, Bette Boutell, Terry Knapp, Jim Boutell

I wish I had thought to ask more questions, and we did ask a lot. But there was just so much to cover. Sixty years. And that was just with Grandpa Jim. The boys in this black and white picture? They were from her first marriage to my Grandpa Bill. That's a lot of life to cover. And we never think about discussing it until it's too late. By the time Grandpa had passed and we started talking that last week, the answers had eroded and the tales had grown a little taller. But that's okay. The stories will stay with me and they'll be mixed up a little and added too and they'll be shared. And that's what life's about, sharing our stories. Even when they're not our own.

Here's what I do remember, the laughter.

The anniversary parties at our house, at the Pretzel Bell and MSU children's gardens, the cakes and the smiles and the laughter. Always laughter. Even when things were hard. Grandma and Grandpa did not have a perfect marriage, from my limited view I'm not sure anyone does, just as none of us has perfect relationships. But they kept at it. For a very long time. To me, that means something.

There were four kids between them. There were at least seven apartments and houses that I remember. There were grandkids galore. There was farming and General Motors and Sears and the schools and the church and growing old together. There was cancer and heart attacks and strokes and dying mothers and divorces. There was so much in that sixty years. And I was only there for a fraction of it.

But here's what I remember most vividly: Hot July afternoons on the farm. Grandpa coming home from work for lunch and clicking on the little black and white TV in the kitchen to find CBS at 12:30pm for The Young and the Restless. Even though Grandma had it on in the living room on the big color set. Eating fresh veggies and hot rolls and peanut butter. Them not saying much to each other because it didn't have to be said. It was a finely tuned, over thousands of practices, orchestra. It just worked. The hour would pass and Grandpa would head back out and as hard as I try, I can't remember if there was a kiss or a hug or a kind word. Chances are there wasn't. Chances are it was just part of the song. The leaving, the returning in a few hours to do it all again. It was just life. And they seemed to make the most of it, day in and day out.

My grandparents didn't get their sixty years together here on earth. They were just a few weeks shy when grandpa passed away. But a few weeks is not really important. What's important is the life they lived, together, for better or worse, here. And knowing that they must be having a big party (or maybe just eating rolls together watching their program) up in heaven today.

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