My parents were engaged when Pearl Harbor was bombed. They talked long into the night about what to do. The next Saturday, the 13th, they eloped and not long after he enlisted and was gone to the Pacific for the duration. He came back in ‘45 to a wife and a little Ozark farm. They celebrated their golden wedding anniversary shortly before his fatal heart attack.

That “greatest generation” was cut from different cloth, woven on the depression loom. I have to wonder how many marriages today would survive such a start.