This August, Tim and I celebrate our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary: the silver one. It is true that we each have a few silver hairs, but, honestly, it simply doesn’t seem that long to us, despite documentary proof:
We’ve shared a number of adventures thus far, including getting to know the surprise party planner pictured above between us. (That surprise party for our last anniversary was the most delightful party ever–wonderful company, delicious food, and a perfect setting. Thank you, Julia! Thank you, Ellen!) Even the dress I wore (my great-grandmother’s gown, brought back from the brink with refurbishment in 1988) had some adventures in its last year of 2010. After decades in a dark box, it got a chance to see the world before leaving it:
Although the dress is gone–the netting rotted beyond repair before its Viking funeral send-off on our twenty-second anniversary–our adventures continue. I couldn’t bear to throw it out, but it didn’t make sense to keep it in a box when it could no longer be worn. Our ceremony to celebrate and honor the dress gave us a sense of new possibilities and a tangible metaphor for the necessity of submitting to those changes life insists upon.
(Photo note: what appears to be the sun setting is actually the full moon rising!)
Later this month, Tim and I are planning an urban adventure together. We’re staying a short time at a luxurious hotel and giving ourselves the rare luxury of unplanned time–many ideas for things to see and do but nothing actually scheduled! (Julia and Peanut will sojourn in the country with friends.)
And we look forward to all the new discoveries on the road together toward our golden celebration in 2038. Here is a poem I wrote in honor of our twentieth anniversary.
The champagne cork lifts off, sails toward a night
sky littered with stars. Probably it lands
on the grass, perhaps on the roof of the shed.
No longer bottled up, sharp smoke disperses.
We bring our bubbling glasses together,
raise them in honor of each other, our friends,
our cherished place on Earth, cheering, “Here, here!”
The beautiful silver flight of the knife
ends with a thud, sunders a crisp melon
under the sweet rising moon of August.
We’re surrounded by intergalactic cold,
an uncertain economic climate,
political tumult. Yesterday, hail
strafed this peaceful town and its lush gardens,
yet we are calmed in all this whirling by knowing
in our universe there is no down or up.
Just this one central moment,
this warm hand, this sweet breath, this sip of home.
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We are beginning to make plans for Julia’s freshman year of high school. One highlight–among many–is the chance to study again with a master teacher. Julia Denne is offering an online course on master works of short fiction from 19th century Russian writers. After studying Tolstoy’s War and Peace in depth last year with Julia Denne, our Julia is interested in the wide variety offered by this new syllabus: writers from Pushkin to Chekhov are represented. Online discussions are sure to be lively. Take a look at www.bytheonionsea.com.