Two years ago, the two of us walked into the stone church up the road, which was a blessedly cool oasis in the middle of a hot, humid day. Two groups of pews sat separated by a single aisle. Our bridal and groom’s parties – the wedding equivalent of linebackers – cleared the way for us. Two chairs on the stage, and two families, broadly speaking.
Two people walked into the church; two walked out. We’ve got two sets of tastes, two sets of habits, and what seems an appropriate level of codependency for the duration we’ve been together.
Tonight, for the second year running, we went to Simon Pearce for an anniversary dinner and sat out on the terrace overlooking the dam. We talked about our relationship, watched a spider build her web behind my head, and were surprised to find a hot air balloon doing a touch-and-go in the river directly outside the terrace. As the burner roared to lift the balloon away, they passed easily within 10 feet of us, and joked about placing a dinner order.
A good meal, a cool evening, serendipity, and someone to sing Fountains of Wayne songs with in the car on the way home; this I could stand to do for many more years than just two. Here’s to many, many more.