In keeping with the anniversary theme we’ve got going, I (with the permission and assistance of my dear husband) have compiled some memories from our dozen years together:

Best surprises:

• His proposal during dessert on my 24th birthday. We had actually gotten into a really dramatic fight the night before because I thought he was never going to ask me to marry him.
• He planned a surprise weekend away in Wilmington for our sixth anniversary. He arranged childcare, made reservations, and had all of the logistics completely squared away. I did find out a little in advance, but that was through no fault of his own.

Worst surprise:

• For our first Valentine’s Day together I hired a barber shop quartet to serenade him at my apartment. I thought that was so cool, and I would have loved it but he was not so much into four older men dressed up in period costume singing turn of the century love songs to him. I get that now…

Best gifts:

• Both of our girls were born close to Mother’s Day (April and May), so on each of the Mother’s Days immediately following the birth of a daughter he gave me a nice big-girl piece of jewelry. In both cases we were both still very sleep deprived and shell-shocked, so that may explain it, but I am grateful nonetheless…

Worst gifts:

• He gave me a rolling desk chair (not even leather) and the plastic mat that goes under the chair (with the spikey things on the underbelly) for Christmas. In his defense, I had said that we needed to buy each other practical, inexpensive gifts that year. I have not ever said that again.
• I gave him a basketball goal and a martin house on two different occasions. They apparently were the worst gifts because they are still in the boxes in our garage. I have come to understand that it’s not really a gift to him if he has to work for it. So from here on out I’m going with no assembly required. In my defense, I think he asked for the martin house.

Best vacation(s):

• St. Simon’s Island, Georgia: We are always in the mood to go to St. Simon’s. This vacation had a dubious beginning (see below) but turned out to be life-changing, seriously. We were in the worst spot our marriage has been in to date when we took this vacation, and that was only two years into it. During this trip, God literally grabbed Chris’ attention and that has made all the difference for the both of us (if you have the chance you should ask him to tell that story – he kinda had a Jonah moment). We have been back to SSI once since then (my best surprise for him) and had another grand visit. I’m thinkin‘ it’s time to plan another trip, and I highly recommend you consider the same. It is charming, to say the least.
• New Orleans, Louisiana: We went to New Orleans to celebrate the completion of my Master’s, and we researched it for months. Chris interviewed every person he ever encountered who had been, and I read months and months of Southern Living to compile a list of restaurants. There was some kind of convention there during our stay which made finding a room quite impossible. We went through a roomfinder service and stayed in a carriage house behind a local’s home in a primetime location. We took a class at the cooking school and feasted at all hours of the day on beignets and cafe au laits at Cafe Du Monde. Aside from the fact that it was absolutely 463 degrees every day we were there, it was a so-fun trip.

Worst vacation:

• Clearwater, Florida: Chris and I planned a vacation to Clearwater, and we were so excited. We left Flotown like at 6:00 in the morning and drove a gazillion miles there. As we drove into Clearwater, we hated it. When we arrived at our hotel, we hated it. We ate at a place on the beach, and I spent the rest of the night sick. We woke up the next morning, checked out of the hotel, went to Busch Gardens in Tampa, and drove all the way back to St. Simon’s Island, where we had the best vacation ever.

Worst mistakes:

• We got married and instantly decided we had to buy a house. We were big boys and girls then, and we couldn’t live in an apartment and be a real married couple. We caught the house bug worse than any case I’ve ever seen. So we found this FSBO and it was too cute and it was on a quiet street and it was owned by this sweet widow and her daughter and we just HAD to have it. Foolish, foolish, foolish! So we left our very adequate $385/month apartment to pay more than this cute hunk of home appraised for. Did you hear me? MORE THAN IT APPRAISED FOR! It gets better. We sold it nine months later for quite the substantial loss. Gotta love that! I do have to say that we took that beating to heart and pledged not to lose another dime on real estate. Thankfully, we have made much wiser choices since then.
• While we were in our cute over-priced starter home, we needed a pet. Oh yes we did! We became the proud parents of a beautiful cat I named Hunter. She was a sassy cat, a little on the mean side, but smart and bossy. Anyway, during the transition of our move, Hunter died. I am glad I am so much smarter than I use to be. I decided that if we got another Burman it would be similarly tempered. We could only find a male and he is not-so-much like Hunter. We had Hunter for about eight months, and we have now had Samson for eight and a half years. Lest you worry, he is very well taken care of, but he is the most annoying cat on the face of the planet.

So, thanks for indulging me the trip down memory lane. Anybody willing to share…

I’m waxing philosophical these days (I can’t say that without thinking of Daniel-son, “Wax on; wax off…“) about the past decade at the occasion of our wedding anniversary. We hired a babysitter for this past Friday night so we could go to dinner to celebrate. I desperately needed to straighten the house before the sitter arrived, so I thought the girls might enjoy watching the wedding video. My plan had been to let them play and watch the wedding while I ran around the house putting things in their correct places. Well, … we all got sucked in. I stood in front of the TV and watched the entire thing. The girls flipped and wallowed and climbed and somersaulted on the couch while keeping their eyes glued to the screen.

Campbell kept screaming at her daddy to look at her (she could only see the back of his head at the beginning). “Momma, Daddy won’t look at me.” And, of course, both girls wanted to know where they were.

And I kept pointing out my big, cheesy grin, exclaiming how excited I was to marry my prince. “Why isn’t Daddy smiling?” Carson wanted to know. Good question, I thought. They both pounced on him with that one when he got home. Carson was enthralled with the whole princess aspect of it. Her favorite part (and mine I must admit) was when the music was playing (dueling trumpets from the choir loft and balcony, the chiming of the hour, and the traditional wedding march – I can hear it now!) and everyone was standing – awaiting and honoring me. Isn’t that every bride’s favorite part? Honestly, that’s my favorite part even as a witness to the occasion. Carson loved that and declared that she would not have all those blasted songs if she did in fact change her mind and decide to get married (in her mind the best man is already taken and she is perfectly content to live with him for the rest of her life).

I did well up with tears several times. It was the sweetest day of my life, and it was so fun to be transported to that place again, sharing it with my two precious daughters and all of those people I love. The most striking observation this time around was how much has changed in a decade. I was able to look into the faces and hear the voices of many dear people who are no longer here: our wedding director, a fantastic college friend, a grandmother, the mothers of two of my bridesmaids – one who read a poem in the wedding. Marriages that have dissolved; criminal hairdos that have been rectified; weight gained; weight lost; health that has deteriorated. Friendships that have thinned due to time and distance, so what a joy it was to be there again! Not sad at all – a nice trip and a healthy reminder that time moves faster than I really care to grasp. By the grace of God I am given this moment, may I live it well…

On June 6, 1998, Chris and I were married at 5:00 pm in my sleepy hometown of Marion, which means that we indeed celebrated our ten-year wedding anniversary yesterday! For our first married Valentine’s Day, I wrote him the story of our first date as part of his gift. I have decided to post that story tonight in celebration of how God has blessed us with ten wonderific years of marriage. I am inclined to make two observations at this juncture…

• After rereading this story, we were not the picture of a super healthy relationship from the start. It may have been more like one idiot deserving another (at least initially). You’ll see…
• We are now old as dirt!!

At Last…

During January and February of 1996, I was probably healthier and happier than I had been in a long spell. I was enjoying my first year of teaching; I was completely free and unencumbered. I had my own place; I had shed a good bit of weight for my best friend’s wedding. Her nuptials were the catalyst for a few needed changes in my life because I anticipated that Page and Julian’s wedding celebration would be the social event of my life that year (and, of course, she did not disappoint me). The dating opportunities in Anderson had proven to be limited which then resulted in a few unsavory Saturday night experiences.

As the festivities ensued, I did meet a promising Citadel graduate (even though I kinda sorta had a date to the rehearsal party and wedding). Chris Cawthon, the Citadel chap, and I had hit it off quite well. I remember coming back and furiously cleaning the apartment, listening to the whines of Willie and Shania (Nelson and Twain, no doubt). I was hopeful that a suitor would come calling one weekend soon. And he did. Chris called and requested a Saturday evening date for February 10.

I was so elated, and the timing couldn’t have been better. I figured that if things went well enough I might even snag a Valentine’s gift that year. Once again I cleaned and obsessed over every inch of my living space. Everything had to be perfect to ensure a positive impression. That day I lounged and leisurely prepared for my first real (enjoyable) date in Anderson. I took my time spiffing up to present myself as the quintessential modern woman, every hair in place and every fake nail flawlessly polished. I was feeling stylish and sassy.

I think he was due to arrive between 5:30 and 6:00 because it was still light outside. Anyway, whatever time his e.t.a. had been, it came and passed. He phoned to announce that he was lost, so I reviewed the directions and set him on his way again. Thirty to forty-five minutes elapsed after his call, and he’d only been a couple of blocks away when he was lost.

The phone rang.

It was a girlfriend calling to chat. Of course, I had assumed it would be my disoriented date. At this point, I started to question the character and/or common sense of this gentleman. I related the sequence of events to Holly, and we pondered the possibilities; however, in the midst of our ruminations, the doorbell sounded. I abruptly terminated the call and opened the door to find my date, looking a little disheveled but still quite handsome. “Hey! Come on in. What in the world took so long?”

“Look outside,” he responded. I half expected to see a tornado or similar natural disaster flashing by my window, for surely there must be some good reason he was an hour and fifteen minutes late. I opened the blinds and saw nothing but a fine February dusk. My reservations regarding his mettle were resurfacing.

“Do you see my car?”

“No.”

“I just totaled it a few yards away. I walked here; see, there’s all my stuff out of my car.”

“Oh,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

He recounted his misfortune and assured me that we’d still be going on our date, if I drove, of course. I felt sorry for what had happened to him and made every effort to be sensitive. He would have none of that; he appeared nonchalant and impervious to the near total destruction of the car he had purchased only months before.

The first stop on our date was a dark, trashy garage in the armpit of Anderson. While waiting for the not-so-sanitary owner of the dark, trashy garage, my hand accidentally brushed his on the emergency brake.

“Please don’t try to hold my hand,” he quipped.

“Jerk,” I thought, liking the challenge.

We then ventured to our dinner destination where he inquired about my plans for the following weekend. I’m sure that I wanted him to know that I was available, without seeming too available.

“I’m not sure; I might have a friend coming into town, but I don’t know. What are your plans?”

“My cousin’s getting married in Savannah, and I’m in the wedding. Weddings are usually a lot of fun, like Page and Julian’s. They’re also a great place to meet people; that’s why my friends and I decided that you never take a date to a wedding. Those occasions are swamped with single bridesmaids.”

“Jerk,” I thought, realizing there was no chance for a date the next weekend. I was really beginning to wonder what I had done to incur the punishment I was receiving from this virtual stranger. I was usually very good at dating, so how had this date gone so awry?

We took in a movie, The Juror, where I watched the film alone while he abandoned me to call and discuss the details and consequences of the wreck with his parents.

“Jerk,” I thought, mystified that he could be so unaffected by my charm and wit.

As it turns out though, he had played his game well. Through mutual friends, he had researched my dating habits and knew that I needed a challenge to keep my interest. Through lengthy conversations that transpired after the events detailed above, we were able to unearth common goals, interests, and beliefs, and a mutual appreciation and attraction between us. On a date that seemed to have gone so badly, I found someone with whom to share my life.