Three years ago

October 13th was a Saturday. I was kind of sore when I woke up; I had been pretty busy hauling bales of hay in and out of my car that Friday. I woke up alone. It was eerily still and quiet in my apartment, only the cats and my drowsy meanderings elicited responses from the bedsprings and the floorboards. I took a shower and silently made myself presentable, jumped into some regular clothes, collected my tuxedo together, and took an introspective drive out to Magnolia Manor.

Along the way, as I passed slow-moving traffic or spied an early morning jogger, a part of me felt like doing something to draw attention to myself. I didn’t have any special songs to play on that drive in; I may have been listening to NPR or just the radio or something. I had left early and had plenty of time to spare.

I remember the excitement didn’t really kick in until T-minus thirty minutes. I was able to welcome some out-of-town friends, mingle around a bit. But for the most part I just hung out in some on-site computer-training room, complete with dry-erase board to play tic-tac-toe with visitors. Messages (mostly reminders) were passed between Annie and I via her brother. The photographs they took in that preparation stage came out excellently; I think going through the motions of posing with family and friends did a great deal for whatever nerves I could have had. A platter of fruit was brought into my room and I think I had a few grapes, nothing more. Some may have believed me when I reassured them I wasn’t nervous yet, some may have thought back to their own day and knew I was saying that to convince myself more than anyone else.

I remember the slow walk out the back door, chatting with our man-of-God. I remember getting to a certain part on the back road and him encouraging me to pick up my pace a bit. I remember proceeding out as practiced and I really remember doing my best not to lock my knees.

And, of course, I remember the music swelling and Annie appearing from the autumn trail.

Marriage is one of those “stages in life” between Adolescence and Retirement. Cultures celebrate these occasions with wonderful ceremonies, wonderful days that give, for example, children-turning-into-adults similarly significant/photogenic/memorable moments to cherish. I never had a “sweet sixteen” or a bar mitzvah. But I don’t report that with regret, because I had a damn near-perfect wedding. A truly wonderful ceremony, and I know this because of how close I came to perfection.

I love you Annie. Happy anniversary.