Editor’s note: I thought about not writing today because it is our anniversary which is to say it’s a sacred day. But I don’t want to quit blogging until I reach the 100-day mark, at least, so here I am. Read at your own risk.
Happy 18th Anniversary, Goldie. You light up my life and I love you.
I looked it up and eighteen is porcelain. That’s what toilets are made of so cheers to a practical and necessary anniversary?
Material goods aren’t really our thing, but nature is and I’ve always loved the unpredictable, natural elements of our anniversary.
When we got married, it was 81 and sunny. Today, it’s literally forty degrees colder and windy here in Rockford. But the sun is shining and I can feel the warm spirit of our beautiful day in my jaw, my chest. My temples.
There will be a full moon tonight. The media is calling this one the “pink moon.” Why do they have to call it anything? It’s like assigning porcelain to an anniversary.
Last year on our anniversary, a great horned owl visited our backyard. Awesome.
And I remember the year before that we had a little double-date in our backyard with the ducks. It was the beginning of the pandemic and neither of us wanted to venture too far from home. It seems funny now, but I was afraid to even go to the backyard. And by funny, I mean kind of sad and disturbing.
Most (all?) years we’ve celebrated with a run or walk or hike or bike ride. I’m glad we take it outside. And I’m glad for the days we don’t leave the house. I’m glad for the days I look up from my “morning chair” and I see you on the couch, surrounded by books, art and animals.
But this morning you weren’t there because you were, and are, in San Diego. I do wonder what the pink moon will look like when you get back to your hotel room tonight. Will you be able to see it over the Pacific Ocean? Will you even look for it? I will if you will and for tonight only I’ll let it light up my life. Here’s to 18 more and then 18 more after that. ❤
To the rest of you non-Goldies: Thank you for reading my blog. -Connie
P.S. Fun fact: I’m the editor.