365 True Things: 125/Anniversary

Thirty-six years ago today, David and I set up housekeeping in a scruffy little sort-of two-bedroom house in San Diego. It was not the greatest part of town, as we learned in our first week: walking down a main drag to go to the grocery store, we realized that several officers armed with rifles were sneaking around a house just ahead, backs plastered to the walls—a little SWAT operation, right there in our neighborhood.

We lived there two years. Despite our welcoming party, we always left the door open—ajar—at night for our beloved orange kitty, Tisiphone (who joined us as a kitten that first month and didn't leave for the great catnip field in the sky until eighteen-plus years later). Before we got to know them, our neighbors in back, Ray and Therese, and Alan and Leslie, thought we were either insane or serious martial arts experts. I guess they learned we were simply insane. The only trouble we ever had, though, was awakening one night to a possum raiding Tis-puss's bowl, making a helluva racket. Overall, I'd say we were just damn lucky no one broke in or worse. (Well, they wouldn't have had to break in, would they, if they'd come in the night?)

Two years to the day later, we made it official. So today is also our thirty-fourth wedding anniversary. We got married in Topanga State Park in the Santa Monica Mountains. It was a fairly hippie-dippie party: I made my wedding dress, and David's pants and shirt (all in light apricot). I believe I also made the best man, Kevin's shirt—in a burgundy, or maybe claret is more correct. Excellent color sense we had, apricot and claret! My best friend, Kathi, was my attendant. She was smart and asked her mother to make her dress—which was the same pattern as mine and which she ended up wearing backwards, as I recall. I had flowers in my hair, which I wore braided and up on my head. David's mother thought it looked "severe," but I didn't want to be too hippie-dippie with all that long hair.

Ah, how young we were . . .

The music was provided by my mother's best friend, Libby, and her friend Phyllis, who played recorders. Therese made the delicious lemony cake, and Ray took photos, as did my brother and whoever else had a camera. (This was in the days of film, so not everyone had a camera, unlike now.) David and I concocted a huge fruit salad, which made the yellow jackets very happy. The champagne went well with everything, as it does.

The only thing we paid for was the flowers. Which now that I look at the photo, didn't exactly go with the apricot and claret either . . .

The main highlight of the festivities—by several accounts—was when a huge herd of goats came dancing down the hillside near the little building we were hanging around, yelling "Congratulations!"

We always joke that the officiant, Reverend Mike Fink—a Methodist—brought an uninvited guest to the wedding. We had asked him not to mention God (yeah, I know—what were we thinking?). He did pretty well at the start, but then he couldn't help himself. After all, I'm sure it's part of his wedding patter. And when we didn't react, he kept on. Not too much. But more than no mention at all.

Obviously, it didn't hurt.

Anyway. It was a great day. Warm and sunny, with a nice group of family and good friends to help us tie the knot. Some of those people are gone now, some we are no longer in touch with. Everyone who's left is older—yep, thirty-four years older! My memories of the day have faded somewhat, which makes me glad for the photos. My favorite photo, which our sister-in-law Virge took, is still packed away in the garage. If I stumble on it, I'll add it to the couple I'm posting here.

It's been a good journey so far. If we manage to put in another thirty-four years, that'll make us 94 and 95. Which is theoretically possible, though I've always thought late eighties will suffice. In any case, here's to another good couple or even few decades together, before "as long as we both shall live" comes into play.