Coffee in bed says I love you

Twenty-Five Years With the Right Guy

By Jill Kuraitis, 7-31-07

Today, it is twenty-five years since my mother helped me into my wedding dress and I took my father’s arm to walk down the aisle to the altar, where Vince was waiting.

Being married to him is the great gift of my life, and if I could get up on the roof with a PA system, I’d shout it all day.

I was 24 and working in Hollywood; he was 26 and just finishing his J.D./M.B.A. at UCLA.  He had a 1974 red MGB, the beach was just a mile away, and life was sweet.

When Vince called to make our first date, his voice on the phone was deep and sexy, and I could HEAR a twinkle in his eye.  But nothing prepared me for what happened the next night when he rang my doorbell: I took one look at his darling face and knew I would marry him, just like that.

Four days later, I nearly scared him away by telling him I loved him.  But nine months after that he proposed, and we married the following July 31 at St. Augustine’s-by-the-Sea Episcopal Church in Santa Monica, California.

A quarter-century later, we can look back at successes like our two children: one at university, one in the Navy; good jobs and recognition at them; helping each other through the death of parents and other elders; a nice home and good friends.

The failures have been small, like his inability to shut cabinet doors or find anything, even if it’s been in the same place for 20 years, and my hopeless cooking and inability to navigate his elaborate DVD system to watch a movie.  Then there is his frustrated amusement with my hobby of rearranging furniture and painting walls that don’t need it, and my teasing him that he couldn’t hang a shelf straight if he was at the point of a gun.

All that stuff is pretty funny now, but it wasn’t always. Both of us used to be selfish little why-can’t-you-do-like-me snots.  We went through some tough periods where splitting up was discussed, and others when we fought like two cats in a sock. It has by no means been a smooth ride.

But there is something about the passage of time, the lessons you learn from experience and from watching other marriages evolve, and from the general disorder and chaos that comes with family life that eventually shows you the way.  Time smoothes things out and makes laughing much easier than fighting, and teasing more comfortable than provoking.

With us, there has also been the bond and hilarity of our shared heritage: we’re both Lithuanian-American. Lithuania is a Baltic country, like Latvia and Estonia, and the culture, which is not Russian as any Lithuanian will indignantly inform you, is full of goofy traditions, bad food and cultural, er, quirks. Not only that, the Lithuanian language is structured so that English translations come out with the front of the sentence on the back, like the classic “Throw me down the stairs my hat.” One of my favorites is “It is so lucky you should be!” - like Yoda, from Star Wars.  Both of us having been raised in that culture helped us understand a lot.

But I believe the most fundamental reason we’re at twenty-five years and counting is because I married the right guy.

Vince Kuraitis is a prince of a man. His integrity is unshakeable, his honor and devotion utterly reliable, and he hands me his heart of gold every single day. He’s not splashy or even very expressive, but he shows his love by caring for me and the children. When we were first married, I was hurt that he didn’t tell me every five minutes that he loved me, but one of my bridesmaids was smart enough to counsel, “Listen harder, you idiot. He’s saying it.”

Over the years, he grew from a quiet guy who couldn’t quite explain his energetic, unconventional wife into a funny and charming man who loves and appreciates most of what comes with that, especially the humor and sense of the ridiculous it brings.

Without me, he’d have little social life.  Without him, I’d be a craggy old stagehand in New York for whom the jobs were drying up. His steadiness and resolve have taught me sanity and order.

He brings me coffee in bed. He reads my writing and laughs out loud at the right spots. He encourages and enjoys all my wacky interests, like quilting and collecting clematis vines and feeding a menagerie of birds, squirrels, owls, ducks and Canada geese, along with our dogs and cat.  If I’m sick or out of town, he goes outside in the cold to fill all the squirrel feeders, knowing I’d worry about the little varmints if he didn’t. 

Vince loves his job and works so hard I often worry.  His devoted clients and ability to focus on his work despite long hours and stressful travel are an inspiration.

What about a guy who cooks and never fails to keep milk in the fridge (so crucial for that morning coffee) and who never passes up an occasion to give me cheesy fold-out greeting cards, usually with something that flaps, squawks or sings, because he knows they crack me up? Who gave me a real live hedgehog – which took him quite awhile to locate - for my 40th birthday, because I mentioned they were cute?  Did I mention this is MY guy?

He tells other people funny stories about me, and they report back sometimes, saying, “He sure is crazy about you.” That is the sweetest thing of all.

Because of my tragic electronic-component impairment, he bought me an outstanding anniversary gift. It’s a special remote control which he can pre-program with all his crazy sequences.  All I have to do then is hit one of three main buttons:  WATCH TV, WATCH MOVIE, or LISTEN TO MUSIC.

Because of his love of our shady back deck and propensity to barbeque everything in sight, I got him a handsome new black iron patio table.  He is not allowed to barbeque ON it, mind you.

As for anyone else’s marriage, I have no useful advice for getting to 25 years.

All I know is how to get there the only way I’d want to - with Vince.

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