It's Like Nothing's Changed

Let me just check my watch this morning.

Check.

Six months.

The sky hasn't fallen; the crops haven't failed; a twister hasn't swept through the corn fields and scooped up a schoolgirl, and her little dog, too. Nope, everything seems the same, actually. It isn't different at all. Do you think they were wrong? Do they think they were wrong.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. You see today it has been six months since marriage equality has been the law of the land in Iowa and, well, unless I missed it, the world has not ended. God, or god, has not sent down any thunderbolts; and the Devil, or devil, hasn't thrown any parties. All is the same in that square state, over there, in the middle.

Terry and Sherry Callahan live in Burlington, Iowa. Some friends set them up, and they became a couple, and throughout the years, they've lived their lives as every other couple does: they bought a house, created retirement accounts, planned for their future. They did what every other couple does, except get married, until six months ago, when they'd already been a couple for twenty-six years.

Patty and Kathy Harris-Johnson got married on their tenth anniversary, and hell didn't freeze over. Let me reiterate: Hell.Did.Not.Freeze.Over. The lesbians were marrying in Iowa and, well, it was business as usual. Or maybe more business as usual for those people in the marrying business; you know, flower shops, caterers, reception halls, who had to deal with the sudden influx of a group of people who were finally allowed the same rights and privileges under the Constitution as their straight friends.

The cake at Patty and Kathy Harris-Johnson's wedding said: "Now, It's Finally Legal."

And the sky didn't fall.

Congratulations, Iowa. And, Thank you.