All it took was just one wink.

43 years ago today, my parents were married.

How, you ask?

Oh, it was the traditional Baptist wedding. Lacy white gown. Black tux. Sweet country church. (That my sister and I grew up in...in case you were wondering.)

But how did they meet?

Well, they went to school together.

So, naturally, they must've met through friends, or through church, or through their pastor.

But since my Daddy was Methodist and my Mother was Baptist and since my Daddy was from Saucier and since my Mother was from Woolmarket, where HER daddy was the pastor (which in case you don't know, was kind of a big deal), they met through other means.

My Mother boldly, while with another date at a high school dance, winked at my Daddy.

Do I think that's nuts?

(Have you MET me? YES! I think that's absolutely, totally, out-of-this-world CRAZY!!! Am I grateful? Well, yes. I kind of adore existing in this beautiful, whacked out world. So....)

Here we are. 2012.

And my Daddy and my Mother have stuck it out, for better or worse, through sickness or health, till death do they part.

And boy, are my sister and I thankful!

Not only do we exist, but we also have learned what it feels like to see love as a decision as well as a beautiful teenage emotion.

Good job, Kent and Cathy.

Much better than I could've done, no doubt. :-)

Lordy, Lordy, look who's 40!

My parents' marriage, that's who!

That's right -- as of October 4, 2009, my parents have been married for 40 years. (WOW.)

I'd love to speak for them and say they were all blissful, but since 32 3/4 of those years have included this feisty redhead, I'll hold off from doing that, and just focus on the enormity of forty years...of anything.

Day in, day out. In sickness and health. For better or for worse.

I don't really know anyone who has everyday memories reflective of a "Leave it to Beaver" or "Brady Bunch" type happy-go-lucky environment, but my sister and I did learn from our parents that sticking it out is the preferred method when it comes to marriage.

Congratulations, Mother and Daddy, on 40 years of ups and downs, good and bad, sickness and health, and showing us what it means to stick together for better and worse.

And, while we're at it, you're very welcome for being the good daughter. O;-)

The Bottom Line.

My parents are currently working on a HUGE project: reflooring their house. (I know -- ouch! But what a great reward once it's over.)

Anyway, when we were all home for my Daddy's birthday in September, they asked our opinions on the type of flooring they'd chosen. They had a sample and were showing us how it looked against the fireplace, etc.

Caleb was busy flying Star Wars ships around as we talked about it, and at one point when he landed near us, I asked his thoughts on the new floor.

As soon as my sweet nephew made an expression pretty close to the one in this picture, just like it was yesterday, I could see my Grandma Johnson's dining room table, and watch her rolling out the dough for chicken and dumplings while singing sweet hymns in her gorgeous alto voice.

And the ceiling in Nan's house in Woolmarket -- all the wood and knots and how fascinating it looked from way down where I was playing on her oval rug.

And my Aunt Mildred's dishwasher-less kitchen -- the stove and sink and how she was always ready with fun conversation and fresh pitchers of lemonade, no matter what time of year or day you visited.

And Uncle Gary and Aunt Renee's dining room, and the countless meals and birthday parties and cakes (by Renee!) that we celebrated so many fun years over.

And the light fixtures that hung from the wood ceiling (much like my Nan's) at Woolmarket Baptist Church, and how I always daydreamed about swinging from them off the balcony all the way into the choir loft.

It's a strong possibility that a few of those decorative items I'm recalling weren't top of the line, or the most updated recommendations from interior designers, yet they were and still are vital to my memories. They helped compose the lyrics of my childhood.

So, in that rush of memories, I wasn't too shocked when Caleb asked with a puzzled look, "Why would Grammi and Grandpa get a new floor?"

Pulling him into a hug, my mom said, "Well, this carpet is just too old to keep, but you can always remember Grammi and Grandpa's old floor."

And really, she's right.

No matter what floor we're standing on, our memories are a key part of our foundation.

And that (as infamous former Jackson, MS, mayor Frank Melton used to say), is the bottom line.