It’s fitting, I think, that I’m redesigning my blog tonight, because not only is it the beginning of a new season (I don’t mean the exact beginning, but, at less than a week into Spring, we’re still at the beginning) but it’s also the anniversary of my marriage to Fuzzy.
Nine years ago, we eloped, dragging our friends to the dark and gloomy courthouse in Brookings, South Dakota, on a bitterly cold March day, in the middle of Lent, and even though the last nine years haven’t always been easy, they’ve been mostly happy.
It’s a joke, in my family, that marriage contracts come up for “renewal” on the anniversary date, but behind the flippancy is a real recommittment to each other, to ourselves as a couple, as a family.
We’ve never really done anything elaborate for this occasion, I think because it falls at such an awkward time of year: right in the middle of the longest pay period of the first half of the year, which follows a short month. And then, even in California the weather is rarely cooperative.
Still, sometimes quiet, personal celebrations are good. So, there will likely be meatloaf, and movies, and lots of smooching, because there’s never too much of that. We might take the dogs to the beach, and watch them get excited about sniffing dead stuff, or we might not. We’re both taking Friday off work, just because we can.
Other years have been a mix of quiet and adventure. In 1996, for our first year, we spent the night in Minneapolis, and saw a skating show. In 2000, a friend comped us a weekend at Sycamore Springs, and then, last year, we took a belated trip to Baja Sur, to visit my parents.
Right now, though, I can’t think about travel. I’m too busy thinking how lucky I am, to be married to someone who understands (most of the time) when I need alone time, and loves me for ME, and isn’t afraid to be silly, or sensitive.
Fuzzy: I love you. Nine’s just the beginning.