And now we're married

Steve Huffman

by Steve Huffman

Meg and I got married Saturday. I was trying to come up with a more eloquent means of delivering the news, but decided to just go ahead and put it out there.

So, there you have it.

Meg is wonderful, Meg is beautiful, Meg is funny.

Meg is also my wife.

Saying so still makes me pause.

We got married in the living room here at Stately Huffman Manor. It was a simple ceremony with just a few members of our family and a handful of friends. Ross O’Neal, the preacher from the Methodist church up the street, officiated.

This is my second marriage. I got married in 1982 and stayed married for almost 20 years before divorcing. Meg’s husband, Tom, died in a car accident in 1996. I’ve got two sons, Zachary and Will. Meg has a pair of daughters, Jeanette and Lori, and a 4-year-old granddaughter, Mia.

Put us all together and I think we make a nice-looking family though I’m still having a bit of a problem coming to grips with this whole grandfather thing.

I remember little about my first wedding, which was a fairly elaborate affair staged in a church. I remember being a little nervous about the whole thing, but that’s about it.

Maybe it’s part of the whole aging process, but I was much more emotional during Saturday’s wedding. My voice cracked and I had to stop to collect myself. We finally got through the whole thing.

Meg is a nurse and had to be back at work Monday, so we’re going to wait a bit before taking a honeymoon. We’re talking about a cross-country drive in late spring, maybe even spending a few nights camping in Montana.

For the time being, we are (as the Society section of newspapers used to say) “making our home” here in Spencer. We’re having a good time of it.

Meg is my wife.

Adopting a 10 year old basset hound

Steve Huffman
Steve Huffman

by Steve Huffman

In the midst of our first winter storm in years, Meg and I did did what any sane adults would do: We rescued a 10-year-old basset hound.

OK, to say we “rescued” Lucky might be a bit of a stretch. He belonged to a neighbor a couple of blocks down the street. But the neighbor has apparently moved into an apartment, so Lucky has been patrolling his fenced backyard alone for … well, years, or so we’re told.

Someone would stop by to feed Lucky on occasion, but other than that he was on his own. When I walked past, I’d often hear him wailing, begging for attention.
I leaned over the fence and petted Lucky a time or two while on my strolls. He seemed sweet. And lonesome.

So with the storm approaching, I left a note on the down-the-street neighbor’s porch offering to take Lucky. Phone calls were exchanged this afternoon.

a basset hound (not Lucky)
a basset hound (not Lucky)

Meg bought Lucky a collar on her way home from work. We walked down the street in the snow to bring Lucky home.

We had to do a bit of coaxing to get him out of his house, which is understandable. It was cold. But once Lucky stepped out and saw we were taking him somewhere, he seemed excited.

Well, as excited as an overweight 10-year-old basset hound can appear.

Lucky peed on every telephone pole on the walk home. He apparently hadn’t been outside his fence or inside a house for years. Did I mention he’s not housebroken?

He was also filthy. One of the first things Meg and I did was put him in the bathtub and wash him. He whined, but that seems to be Lucky’s way. He hasn’t stopped whining since we brought him inside.

His nails are also in terrible need of being trimmed. If he’s not deaf, he’s not missing it by much. I’ve learned all this within the first couple of hours of Lucky being ours.
Remind me again what a wonderful thing we’re doing.