#i fully believe that is a polaroid of dans face

[ninihowlter]

kitchen polaroid reveal when?

[shy-fairy-levele3]

Our House

Strange Magic Week- Day 7: When We Are Old 

Inspired by this playlist 

AO3

Bog’s liver spotted hand shook slightly and he tightened the grip on the handle of his cane. Getting old sucked. Today though Bog liked to believe the minor tremor was a result of his being nervous and not simply old age. Sweet heavens, 85 years old and she could still make him nervous. Bog shook his head at the thought. Today was their 60th wedding anniversary.    

Bog shuffled around their Livingroom, stopping every so often to inspect one of the many pictures placed around the room. Some hung on the walls, a neat row lined the top of the fireplace mantle, and still more sat guard on end tables. The pictures were not just a record of their time together but also an art piece on the change in technology. From the black and white polaroid’s of their wedding to the crisp digital photos of their grandchildren’s birthdays.  

Bog looked at one photo, it had been taken the day they moved into this house. They stood on the front stoop, he and Marianne each held a cat in their arms, Bog held the white one, Imp they had called him, and Marianne held the grey tabby, Lizard. For five long years the cats had filled the otherwise emptiness of the house. Bog turned away from that picture, to look at another one, the day they brought home the twins.  

Waiting for that call had been one of the hardest things Bog and Marianne had to endure. At last the adoption centre called, a new baby needed a home. They had been willing to take any child in need of a good home, never dreamed that when they got there they would have a choice.  

“Would you like a boy or a girl?” the kind lady had asked.

When she further explained that the children were twins, Bog and Marianne hadn’t even discussed it.  

“We’ll take them both.”

That was how Ian and Innis became part of the King family.  

There were many summer time pictures taken out in a field by the lake, a place he and Marianne had frequented both before and after they were married. The orange and brown plaid blanket they had shared was prominent in so many of the photos. Halloween pictures and Christmas pictures blurred together, Bog didn’t know where the time had gone.  

The next picture his eyes landed on was a good example of that. It was from their 50th Wedding Anniversary party. It was a good photo of Bog, Sunny, Pare, and Gus all dressed in matching red and cream striped jackets. They had done a barbershop quartet routine to Billy Joel’s The Longest Time. It had been the highlight of the evening. Afterword’s Marianne had told him how handsome she thought he looked, “just like Dick Van Dyke in Marry Poppins” she had said. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Bog had asked in return, rather cheeky. It turned out to be a good thing. Had that really been ten years ago?

There was a tell-tale creak from the upstairs hallway and Bog made his way to the foot of the stairs. He didn’t know how after all these years the sight of Marianne could still take his breath away, and increase his heartrate- something that could be fatal at his age. Oh well, as his Da had always said, “it’s better to die, doing what you love.”

Marianne was dressed in a lilac poodle skirt-complete with poodle, white stockings, and a white t-shirt, over which she wore a wool cardigan that matched her skirt. Dawn, who had been a seamstress her whole life, and was still quick with a sewing machine at age 75 had made her sister’s skirt for the occasion. Marianne did not look her 79 years, though her once rich brown hair had faded to a lovely dark grey. She had dyed the tips purple for the anniversary and her upcoming 80th birthday.  

Bog himself still had a full head of hair, but the vibrant black had turned to what Marianne described as “a rather fetching shade of silver.”  Bog had styled it as though he was still in his early twenties, and living in the fifties. He had on a pair of black jeans, a white t-shirt, and had even shrugged on his old leather jacket, which now hung off his bent frame. The look would not be complete without his large, round and thick-rimmed glasses, and of course his polished wooden cane. A greaser with glasses, who would have thought?

Too preoccupied checking one another out, neither heard the car pull in the driveway so both of them jumped when the loud knock came at the front door.  

“Shall we?” Bog asked, extending his arm to his wife.

The whole thing was pretense, she knew he needed the support more that she did, but still Marianne played along, slipping her arm though his. The way he was just looking at her, had made her feel young again. One glance from him and Marianne was once more a blushing bride of nineteen.  

On the front porch, which had been upgraded from the small concrete step it had once been to a fully functional wood deck, complete with fancy pillars and a three seater swing, stood their youngest grandson, Kieran, dressed head to foot in white 1930’s limo driver livery. His long white-blonde ponytail hung out the back of the cap.  

“Oh Bog, you didn’t!” Marianne gasped at the sight of the car in the driveway.

“Aye, Ah did” Bog grinned at her like the fool he was and she took the opportunity to playfully slap his arm, which was followed by a quick peck on the cheek.  

In the drive sat a white 1936 Rolls-Royce Phantom III, the exact same car Marianne’s father had rented for them for a week as his wedding present to them. Marianne remembered thinking it must have cost a fortune back then, the car had already been 20-21 years old at the time, she couldn’t even fathom the figure it would cost today.

“Bog you shouldn’t have” she chastised, but still the thought that had gone into it, Marianne couldn’t begrudge him that.

“The kids chipped in a bit” he confessed, unable to stop smiling at the absolute pleasure reflected in Marianne’s face.  

“Nan, Gramps, your chariot awaits” Kieran declared, waving his hand out towards the car, he even had on white drivers gloves.

He hurried over to open the doors for each of his grandparents, and waited until each of them was settled before closing their doors.

Kieran hopped in the driver’s seat and started the car.  

“Hello, my name is Kieran and I will be your driver this evening” Kieran declared.

Kieran was not far past sixteen and had successfully passed his driving test the first time round’, something which neither of his two older siblings had achieved.  

Ian had blessed them with three grandchildren, only the first of which Marianne’s father had lived to meet. Innis and her wife Katie were awaiting confirmation on their adoption process, although Katie brought two step-grandchildren with her, from her first marriage. Marianne hopped they had been lying about the delay and that they would bring the new baby with them today as a surprise.  

Marianne couldn’t believe how much their family tree had grown. Sunny and Dawn had three of their own, and each of them had two or three kids. She and Bog had gone from zero to two in a heartbeat, which still made her ache. When the twins were two Marianne had become pregnant for a short time, she was almost ready to tell Bog the joyful news when she had suddenly lost it.  

He had of course been heartbroken when she finally got the courage to tell him two weeks later, but he had also been angry at himself. Bog had made an appointment that day for a vasectomy, not wanting Marianne to go through that pain of loss ever again. They had both cried but the twins were their light that brought them through.  

***

The rented hall was full of friends and family that erupted into a loud applause when Kieran ushered his grandparents in the door. Marianne and Bog had waved graciously as if they were royalty. The room was decorated with still more photographs, pictures of old friends, new friends, and friends long since passed.  

Marianne and Bog danced a jive to Dan Seal’s Bop, and then a waltz to Valdy’s Renaissance. Then they had to take a break because of Bog’s back and knees and Marianne’s hips. Getting old sucked.

Marianne slipped up only once, calling Kieran by Ian’s name and Ian had pulled his father aside.

“Mom’s getting worse” Ian said to his father, deep concern in his voice.

“She’s fine” Bog assured, but he had his own doubts. His biggest fear was that one morning he’d wake up and she wouldn’t know who he was.

The other day they had been out driving and Marianne had come to a full stop at a green light. He hadn’t been allowed to drive for years.

“We just don’t want you guys going all The Note Book on us. Have you thought any more about selling the house?”

“Pah, The Note Book” Bog said waving his hand in the air as if the title of the movie left behind a bad smell after being spoken.

“If anything” Bog said, raising a finger as if he was giving a lecture, “Your mother and I will go the way of Cocoon.”

“Alien abduction dad, really?” Ian asked raising a skeptic eyebrow.  

“The Note Book” Bog said, in counter protest, “do you really think your mother and I watch that romantic crap?”

“Dad, it’s mom’s favourite movie” Ian deadpanned, before turning serious again, “It’s just, I’m worried about you guys, we all are.”  

“Don’t worry so much son” Bog said, laying a comforting hand on Ian’s shoulder, “It’s no’ something ye have any control over.”  

“Losing you both at the same time would just be really hard” Ian confessed, “and I just know that if mom goes first-” Ian couldn’t finish his own sentence.  

“It would kill me too?” Bog finished, it was something that echoed his own thoughts on the matter.

Innis and Katie did surprise everyone by bringing along Ben, a sweet baby boy of eight months old, already sprouting dark curly hair. Sarah and Jenny tagged along sheepishly, knowing that they weren’t unwelcome but still feeling out of place.  

Everyone had a grand time and no one was surprised that when they cut the cake Marianne managed to get a swipe of icing on her husband’s large nose.

***

Bog awoke in the middle of the night to find the space beside him in bed empty. It was one of his worse fears come true. Marianne had gotten up and wandered off somewhere. Bog felt around on his nightstand until he found his glasses. As soon as Bog removed the blankets to get out of bed he felt the chilly night air and knew Marianne hadn’t gone far. Bog quickly wrapped himself in his brown fleecy house coat and slipped his feet into some slippers and padded out onto the small balcony.  

Marianne sat in one of the white wooden Adirondack chairs, with her coat, hat, boots, and scarf on right over her nightgown, a packed suitcase sat next to her. She just sat there gazing up at the starry night sky.

“Going somewhere love?” Bog asked cautiously.

It was another minute before she seemed to notice he was there.

“Bog?” she asked, turning to look at him, “what are you doing out of bed?”

“I was kind of wondering the same thing about you” he replied.

“Oh, I’m going home” Marianne said with firm resolution.

“You are home love, come back to bed.”  Bog’s voice was gentle, not pressuring, and etched with sadness.

“The garden folk say I can’t stay long. But we’ll see each other again.” She turned back towards the sky and Bog saw a tear glisten at the corner of her eye.

Bog sat out with her a while longer but the autumn night chilled him quickly and he soon made his way back to bed.  

It wasn’t long before Bog woke again, this time Marianne back in bed beside him. He felt relieved, they still had time.

***

In the morning there were fresh flowers in the vase on the kitchen table, as there had been every morning since they moved into the house. Neither Bog nor Marianne had ever picked or bought the flowers. Bog knew as long as there were flowers in the vase Marianne would still be with him.

She entered the kitchen, a plum housecoat wrapped tight around her humming a song, a song Bog knew well….

                 “I’ll light the fire, while you place the flowers in the vase…”