It was nineteen sixty one.   I had been married five years and made ten moves.

Ken made Major, which was a really big deal, and started Junior School at Quantico.  With his promotion, we finally had the money to buy another car.  I had been house bound for five years.

Our eldest, Pat, started preschool.  And Becky and I traveled the back roads of Virginia visiting antique stores, flea markets and yard sales.  Virginia was shutting down at the time and all the big estates couldn't afford to hire help.  They were getting rid of so much stuff it was unbelievable.   I had a car, some time, and finally a few extra dollars to spend.  Time was the problem.  I had never had enough of it and now I had to fill it up.  I had planned to spend the year taking care of a new baby.  I was at a loss as to what to do with myself.  I carried a broken heart.  I'll tell you about how I healed some day soon.

Ken was very smart.  He sailed through French and all the other subjects.  One night when he was over half way through his courses, he was typing, no, pecking--he couldn't type.  It was two in the morning.  Peck, peck, peck.  So I got up, went in where he was, moved him over and started typing.

"You didn't ever tell me you could type!!!!", he exclaimed.  "I can't believe you didn't tell me!!!  I've been pecking at this thing for weeks and weeks doing my homework and you never took pity on me!!"
"I love you," I told him.  "But if you and I didn't need some sleep, you still wouldn't know."

He was so happy to have me type, he forgot he was mad.  Ephesians 4:26  (My translation--King James is difficult to understand.)  "If you are angry, don't sin: don't let the sun go down on your wrath."

Ken's best quality was that he never, never, never complained.  He just put one foot in front of the other and kept going.  He always made the best of things.