Twenty Three Years and Counting

Twenty three years ago today, I wore mascara for the last time.  Well, that might not be entirely true, but it definitely was the last time that I wore mascara, a floor-length dress and a veil all at the same time.

These days, a burka sounds pretty good.

There aren't many moments in our lives when we recognize--at that very moment--that this is a Moment.  Getting married was definitely a Capital-M moment for me.

A box of our wedding-day photos and ephemera found its way to me this past week, thanks to my mom's recent move.  It was strange to run my fingers over photos I'd never seen before.  And I was taken aback by my mom's previously-unknown records of the event.

"It was a cool evening with occasional showers."  "Ivory freesia, ivory lilies and champagne roses with dark foliage."

Photos of dear neighbors and old friends, of a favorite cousin and a soon-to-be sister-in-law.  Many people I haven't seen in years and others who are no longer alive.

This box of memories is a strange reminder of the road map of my married life.  It was so long ago--almost half of my lifetime--and, in many ways, Mark and I were different people then.  Certainly, we've grown softer and more prone to gravity since then.

But that softness is more than a physical description.  It's also a sign of our tolerance of each other and of all the ways we've learned to meet in the middle, that magical place where emotions are gentler and conversations mostly friendly.

I am mighty grateful that Mark Holt took the plunge 23 years ago today.  God knows it was a brave act.  Foolish, too, I suppose.

I know that the notion of pledging ourselves to one other person--"til death do us part"-- might seem a bit quaint in this amped-up age of ours.  But, for me, at least, it is still a noble pursuit, one filled with just enough laughter and respect that I somehow can be myself, skin tags and all, knowing Mark will find his way home to me each day.