Yesterday Michael and I celebrated our ten-year anniversary! Tin or aluminum is the traditional gift for the tenth anniversary, so we bought some patio furniture. I know I've been putting a lot of focus on our shopping lately. I don't want to sound obnoxious and ostentatious, so let me explain. In Los Angeles, we were in desperate need of new furniture and furnishings for the house. But about four years ago, we decided not to buy or replace anything, because we were planning to move. Of course at the time, we thought we'd just be moving down the street. So for four long years, we waited patiently while the curtains faded, the rugs became thread-bare and the furniture slowly fell apart. We really didn't bring much with us in terms of furniture. We either sold it for scrap or threw it away.
So hopefully you'll forgive me for being a little giddy about getting new stuff after all those years of waiting. It's so nice to have a couch that doesn't stab you when you sit on it.
The past ten years have flown by. I never imagined I would be able to stick to anything for ten years, considering all my hobbies and kooky projects that have fallen by the wayside, like the guitar and glass-blowing and the whole Wicca thing. But somehow, we made it to this landmark anniversary. We met in the idyllic decade known as the 90s. Gas was cheap, the economy was booming and you could see a movie and get popcorn for a nickel. It was a simpler time. I was working in a factory and Michael was an officer in the Navy.
I was a fiery redhead and he was a Cuban bongo-player.
We were both sheep-herders, spending the summer up on the mountain.
However we met, times have certainly changed. One of the first movies we saw together was the re-make of The Parent Trap, featuring a precocious ten-year-old newcomer named Lindsey Lohan. That pretty much sums up what ten years can do to a person, a country, a couple. But here we are. On our first date, Michael told me he had never seen Star Wars. It was almost a deal-breaker, since I can't go a day without talking about Star Wars. But I thought maybe he had been in prison or a sanitarium all those years, so I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. But if he had told me, "You know, in ten years we'll still be together, living and laughing it up 3,000 miles away in North Carolina" I might have given the second date a little more thought. Because that just sounds crazy.