Eleven

Eleven years ago right this minute, Jason and I were dancing at our wedding reception. We took a cruise to Bermuda for our honeymoon, spent the 4th of July up north, and then moved in to this apartment in Ann Arbor, which we photostalked this weekend in a one-night anniversary getaway. We went to almost all of our favorite old haunts:

Pinball Pete's for video games;

Cafe Zola for breakfast;

the Arb for a meandering mid-morning hike;

the alley where - to our delight and astonishment - the same guy who's been doing his Michael Jackson impersonation complete with boom box blasting Thriller and Beat It was STILL breaking it down when we walked by on our way to lunch;

Ashley's for some serious beer-drinking;

Zingerman's for world-famous sandwiches and lots of bread and brownies to bring home;

Kerrytown and the farmer's market, which is still my absolute favorite place to be on a Saturday morning;

and the townhouse on Spring Street we called home for the last three years we lived there. We also peeked into some of our favorite galleries and stores, bought Michigan shirts for the girls for fall football games, went to the art museum and really enjoyed the new modern wing, had dinner at The Prickly Pear and ice cream at Stucchi's, and watched a huge thunderstorm roll into town just as we were getting back to our hotel last night.

Walking around the city, absorbing the sights and sounds and noticing what's changed and what's stayed the same, sparked so many conversations and memories about all the things we did during those first years of our marriage. We talked about whether we were happier then or now, whether not having money or having money makes a difference, whether the time we spend together keeping our marriage strong has changed. We laughed a lot and even managed to learn a few new things about each other that have somehow never come up in conversation before. We missed our girls but not their noise and needs. We weren't in a hurry or on a schedule. We got away for just a night and came back totally refreshed and awfully amazed that so many years have gone by so quickly.

We didn't give each other anniversary gifts (usually don't, and instead spend the money doing something celebratory together, like eating and drinking our way through some fun city), but I did give Jason something I began writing a few weeks at at Bear River. It's anniversary-ish, I think.

Cinderella

After I kissed you that night –

Midnight, New Year’s Eve, 1995 –

I went ahead and kissed someone else

Just moments later. You saw this

And did not appreciate it

And I am sorry,

Though I blame the Solo cups of Miller Lite and the darkness

Of the basement party.

It was not a memorable kiss. It did not fill me

With hope

Or magic

Or the strong conviction that we would live happily ever after.

I was eighteen, and I mostly wanted to dance,

To laugh, to stumble home with my friends.

But when you came and knocked on my door,

Months later, I remembered

Dusty Springfield had been playing and you had been wearing

A green plaid shirt

That hangs in the back of our bedroom closet,

Two kids, three houses, fourteen years later.

Tonight we are sprawled on the couch,

Our legs tangled together

A bottle of wine open on the coffee table,

Puzzle pieces and a stray pink shoe littering the living room.

We watch the sun go down out the window,

Have long, wasteful conversations,

Eat warm brownies straight from the pan,

Kiss healthy children asleep in safe beds.

I think it is enough. I think

It would be wrong to ask for anything more.