At my church, you get put on a list which gets you lovely handwritten birthday cards on significant dates…. birthdays, anniversaries, etc. Usually, you get a couple of sweet cards and that’s that.
This year was different. Perhaps because people are especially sensitive to David’s deployment, I got tons of eloquent and caring anniversary cards in November. Even phone calls!
The only problem? My anniversary isn’t in November.
I don’t know what caused the mix-up a few years ago, but I always look forward to the cards which come at a totally random time of year. I always just thank well-wishers and secretly delight in what seems like a slightly scandalous secret.
Anyway, this mix up has also protected me from dodging well-intentioned churchgoers… the ones whom I’ve dodged before.
Today was actually my 12th anniversary. In 1996, David and I were in France with some close friends and our families, but the boat on which we were to get married ran into the dock and sank in the Seine River.
Notwithstanding the potentially discouraging situation, we married on the upper floor of a restaurant, up a black spiral staircase in a little yellow room with tiny red rosebuds on each table. I bought a cheap dress, and my mother bought flowers from a street vendor for my bouquet, which she tied with a yellow ribbon. The professor we brought to marry us actually began the ceremony in French.
I’m not sure if we actually got married that day, or if we joined Amway.
Nevertheless, it’s been an amazing twelve years.