What a Difference a Year Makes

Our 50th looms, but ya gotta like 49.

Despite current upheaval, there is still a lot to like living under le drapeau tricolore, the French flag which symbolizes liberty, equality and fraternity. Photo by Peggy Wynne

Tomorrow Peggy and I will celebrate our 49^th wedding anniversary.

I know the big dog of anniversaries is the 50^th but I wanted to take advantage of these quiet hours during an off year to, dare I say it, reflect.

Plus, we remain big 49er fans, and I feel good about this year.

Now I can sense some of you former newspaper editors, TV directors and corporate big shots out there already leaning toward the “delete” key. I beg your indulgence for just two minutes.

Not so long when you consider we’re going back five decades here.

La Tour Eiffel, France’s most famous symbol and an excellent spot for date night. Photo by Peggy Wynne

Peggy and I met on a street corner in Paris while still students at the University of Washington – Go Dawgs!

While we grew up on opposite ends of Lake Washington just outside Seattle, we did not know each other. That would change.

We got along well from Day One. The hometown connection definitely helped.

Between us we had enough francs (the Euro was just a dream in 1975) for a beer and a plate of haricots verts (green beans).

After a couple of hours of watching us nurse our beer and beans the bartender took pity and “bought” us a second round.

But the damage was done. The beans coming out of this gin joint bar/kitchen were excellent and I knew then that France was different.

It was during those university years that we totally fell in love with France although it would be 10 years before we could afford a return visit.

During that decade Morgan and Taylor came along – two of the greatest humans in the world. They weren’t planned in the traditional sense but they sure livened things up.

When we started out, I worked for a local and very active daily newspaper. This was the Watergate era and while the pay was not great, newspapering was challenging and often fun. “Fake news” thankfully was not a thing yet. And flat out lying was not an acceptable strategy.

But the opportunities were few for Peggy who wanted to get her graduate degree, so we turned our attention to greener pastures and a larger, more urban environment.

We moved to San Francisco where I wound up editing a group of newspapers involved in a feisty old-time newspaper war. It was intense, to say the least with editors – including myself – coming and going.

Somehow during my promotions and firings and hirings, Peggy quietly and efficiently managed to earn her master’s degree in psychology. She would soon open a small practice which would grow – a lot – over time.

There are moments in every relationship. One of the biggies for me was watching Peggy cross the University of San Francisco stage to receive her degree.

Morgan and Taylor, still very young, saw it too. We swelled with pride and cheered our approval. The kids had spent many an evening with babysitters while Peggy attended night classes and I was working on the morning edition.

It was nice to see it all pay off.

Eventually I moved from newspapering to corporate communications. The more regular hours were nice, the work challenging.

We managed to slip in several more visits to France and began making loose plans for “the move.”

A terrific son-in-law and three fantastic grandchildren - the oldest will be graduating from high school this spring – made us realize we would need a larger “ Maison Francais” than we had expected.

Cutting our worldly possessions down to four quite large suitcases we found and moved into a 250-year-old farmhouse on two acres in rural France last year.

We’re surrounded by vineyards, corn fields and sun flowers (tournesols.)

Tractor engines have replaced the sound of Muni buses. Although I must admit I do miss the sound of the glass recyclers every Thursday at 2 a.m.

There is still much to be done on several fronts.

The road less traveled. Photo by Peggy Wynne

We need to get our ancient red tile leaky roof fixed. We still want to visit the polar bears in the Arctic. And I still must improve my tortured French.

But all those things can wait.

Tomorrow we’ll take a break and visit one of France’s “Les Plus Beaux Villages” where I’ll buy Peggy her own beer. But for old times’ sake, we’ll still share the plate of haricots verts.

Joyeux anniversaire!

EDITOR’S NOTE: Many of you have asked how I am doing after falling off my bike (loser!) and breaking two ribs. It still hurts like hell, to tell the truth, but I do feel better that you asked. My sister Patty and good buddies Jim and Merrill, who have experience with such things, say it will be six weeks – no less, but no more. My “ami de combat” Dennis suggested “A Sideways Glance” while cycling is probably best avoided. Sage advice all round.

CORRECTION: Fano Island, where I took my tumble, is actually off the western coast of Denmark.