In reality, it’s called the Golden Anniversary, and I can’t imagine why. Half a century together deserves to be likened, if at all, to a substance more valuable than gold or merely golden. But do bring out gold coloured tat: balloon arches, ribbons and giant bows, dainty plastic forks and spoons, sparkly cakes, streamers, sequin dresses, groovy ties, champagne wrapped in gold foil. We could justify drinking Louis Roderer Cristal “Gold Medalion” Champagne, then recover our senses and settle on the wallet-friendly Portuguese bubbly decorated with golden filaments, Terras do Demo, Demon’s Land. The land’s inhabitants claim the bubbly makes up for the fact that Jesus never visited the region, and the terrain is inhospitable. No, this is not a metaphor for a half-century marriage.
The Long and the Short of it
People are living longer these days, and one hopes so are the marriages. But the longest marriage ever recorded was that of Daniel and Susan Bakeman, who lived in New York, got married in 1772 and remained so for over 91 years. They celebrated their Granite Anniversary (90th), but I suppose they didn’t name anniversary names back then.
Elmyra and Herbert Fisher, from Michigan, USA, got married in 1924, and remained so until 2011. They celebrated their Oak Anniversary (80th) and went on for another seven years (there’s no name for anniversaries 81-87).
The longest non-recorded marriage is that of Karam and Kartari Chand, who got married in India in 1925, moved to Bradford, England, and were together for over 90 years, another Granite Anniversary.
I’ve planted some oaks in my life, mainly upstate New York, and own some chunks of polished granite in my kitchen. But 50 years of marriage sits nowhere near those anniversaries.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, the shortest marriage ever lasted three minutes in Kuwait. They got married, and went out of the building. She fell down the stairs, and he called her “stupid.” Physically unharmed, she rushed back in, asked for a divorce and it was granted. You go girl!
The second shortest marriage was that of Britney Spears and Jason Alexander, a mere 55 hours. I have no idea why it didn’t work.
A Few Grand Gestures (Or Not)
The world’s most unromantic gesture cost Elon Musk US$35 million. He bought a compound in Texas (Where else?) to house his 14(?) children and their three (?) mothers, perhaps in the altruistic act of isolating them all from his alleged ketamine, ecstasy, LSD, and mushroom habits. And marijuana, which sounds like a sprinkling of sugar after all that hard core stuff. I hope the compound is being divided equally among the one-parent families. However, there’s no telling how many more women and children will join them at the compound, turned polyamory and devoid of significant celebrations. There’s no telling, with Musk’s propensity for family engineering through trouble-free sexless fertilization, so the current three mothers should demand better living conditions and even better financial support. I mean, US$35 million is dirt cheap for the richest man on the planet. Musk seems like a miser towards the mothers of his children, taking into consideration that he spent US$300 million getting Trump to the White House. And look where Musk is now, out of favour, having to bow and backtrack, he hasn’t even got a super yacht to show for all his troubles, dedication, and profound generosity to the Dictator-in-Chief.
On the other side of the pond, who would’ve imagined that Boris Johnson’s progeny (10?), apparently begotten through traditional family values methods and countless episodes of traditional adultery, would grow to almost reach Musk’s. With different women who, at first sight, have nothing to do with Musk. And Musk’s chosen mothers have, apparently, nothing to do with Johnson, either. Boris’ mimicry of the richest man on the planet, and Musk’s lopsided smirk say it all: Boris will have to snip it sometime soon because his wherewithal doesn’t get anywhere near Musk’s, and wow, aren’t children dear, dear, dear in so many ways?
Maybe Musk and Johnson follow the proclivities of Joseph Smith, founder of Mormonism and the Latter Day Saints, who disseminated the idea of plural marriages, but just for the church leaders. Smith had over 30 wives. He is considered a martyr by Mormon followers, but not, you’d think, because he had too many wives to contend with. Smith was charged with treason and assassinated by a mob that invaded his prison. As far as I know, there’s no proof that his wives weren’t in that mob.
On Smith’s heels and willing to outdo his prowess in the Mormon church, surges Brigham Young, who became second president of the church, governor of Utah, and founder of Salt Lake City. There’s even the eponymous university, unlikely to be clamped by Trump. Young got married to 55 women, but only 54 converted to his church. There’s always the one who escapes.
I can say for certain that none of the above can emulate King Solomon, famous for more than his judgement and wisdom. He had 700 wives and over 300 concubines, according to the Bible. Now, there’s a man to be reckoned with, who had the power and the glory and the money to keep everyone happy.
Antimatter Matters
Half a century of marriage deserves to be likened and titled to a substance much more valuable than gold. Fifty years in itself is a gift without measure or description. But needs must, so let’s get physical and try the Antimatter Anniversary. The AA avec bubbly.
Why Antimatter? Think of the first time you met your beloved. That was the Big Bang. The real Big Bang, though, was supposed to have created proportional amounts of matter and antimatter. But Big Bang results were not as symmetrical as some would have wished, so there’s mostly matter around us. Some clever people have been trying to make antimatter proper at the European Organization for Nuclear Research (CERN) in Switzerland. It’s a slog. So far, they’ve produced only a few nanograms (each one-billionth of a gram).
Antimatter, in its incomparable rarity, is estimated to cost US$62.5 trillion per gram (an amount that even Musk doesn’t have). And what would that gram be equivalent to in marriage time? One minute, one day, one year? I suggest 50 years.
If you could hold antimatter in your hand, as tenderly as you’d hold a photo of you and your beloved in your youthful versions, you’d discover that it’s also matter. Antimatter is composed of antiparticles, which are also partners. To put it lightly, everything that I am clicks, gels, melds, bonds with antiparticles. As I’m matter, he’s my antimatter. Likewise, he’s matter and I’m his antimatter. That’s the way it works in a long marriage – like it or not, eventually you do get stuck to each other, so complaining will get you nowhere.
Despite its price, that gram of antimatter in the palm of your hand will take you far, literally, as it has the power to annihilate you and everyone in the planet. As soon as antimatter meets matter, both change forever through a nuclear explosion. Like some couples do. Einstein explains through his equation E=mc2: the amount of energy released is proportional to the total mass of the clashed matter and antimatter. What you put in, you get out. That’s marriage.
Now, Where Were We?
I’ve found that romantic celebrations almost never happen when or where they’re supposed to. Take a look at our history:
1975 – Honeymoon to northeast Brazil where he was doing his research for his Masters’, visiting universities and libraries, collecting data on the Brazilian health and nutrition systems. Come to think of it, this trip pretty much set the tone of our marriage.
1985 – Tin Anniversary – In São Luis, Brazil, where we lived, with him gone on his six-week work trip to New York, and perhaps somewhere in Africa.
1995 – Porcelain Anniversary – From Jakarta, where we lived, to Yogjakarta, in the island of Java, on a business trip with him, offered to me as a joyous celebration with days away from the kids, and the best thing since tinned durian (“The king of fruit” in Asia, banned in airplanes due to its penetrating, putrid smell when ripe). I don’t remember much about this trip: attending unending meetings with him; trying to open a packet of Rolo mints during a long trip in an overpacked people carrier with air conditioning as moody as I was; and being shoved all the way into the Abyss of Interminable Boredom.
2005 – Pearl Anniversary – From Geneva, our home, to Zermatt, Switzerland, one of the most beautiful places I’ve visited, when his boss phoned and they talked for hours, and he turned to work on a pressing report. The world doesn’t stop spinning just because it’s your 30th anniversary. That’s when I got my short-lived Cristal habit.
2015 – Ruby Anniversary – Lisbon, in a 5-star hotel, our kids offered us dinner at a great restaurant and a 40th cake too big for us to eat. When I said to him I could see the Cartier shop from our huge window, he said, “Let’s go get you something you like.” When we got there, the shop was closed. The subject died there and then, as he came to his senses. I, on the other hand, never did.
2025 – Antimatter Anniversary – Algarve, in a cloud of half-memories, with a Terras do Demo habit.
And you thought I’d philosophise about our 50 years and the meaning of life… You thought there’d be gossip, salaciousness, scandals… Nah. Today, none of that matters.
Music of the Rant
Can Can from Orpheus in the Underworld, composer Jacques Offenbach, performed by Gimnasija Kranj Youth Symphony Orchestra from Slovenia, Conductor Nejc Becan.
When all else fails, dance!
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