"Second marriage is the triumph of hope over experience"...

“Marriage is the triumph of imagination over intelligence.

Second marriage is the triumph of hope over experience.”

~ Samuel Johnson (often attributed to Oscar Wilde)

We have exactly one good photo from our wedding.

We had two guests, and one was the officiant. The other was the officiant’s husband. They’ve both been beloved friends to both of us for decades, long before we’d met one another. (They did, however, orchestrate the seating arrangement at a fund-raiser in a church basement that ensured we would meet each other. They’re the kind of friends that will be there through the worst and then introduce you to the best. That’s another story for another time.)

Between us, Tom and I had two siblings, three aging parents and five adult children, scattered across five time zones and six cities. It was impossible to get everyone in the same place at the same time so we let them know we’d picked up a marriage license and we’d use it before it expired. Updates to follow, we told them.

And so on September 14, 2012 we stood in front of the fireplace in the living room of my little house in Dallas and the good reverend officiated and led us through our vows and we both said I do.

And we did.

That one photo our friend snapped with his phone shows us grinning at each other like kids with the golden tickets to our very own amusement park, delighted and delirious.

A framed print sits on a little table by the front door, another on the bookshelf in the den. I can’t get enough of us, of him, of that moment, of all the moments and memories, his eyes and smile and laughter. His body, his mind, his heart. My God, what a man.

People ask sometimes, How long were you married? And I always want to say Not long enough.

We discovered people and places that inspired and enlightened us. We discovered the beauty and the bruises that we both brought with us; after all, we each had five decades of life behind us already. We’d been through a lot and learned a lot, and we kept learning.

We got a puppy. We moved across the country. We found a new community, renovated an old house, wrote a book, hunkered down together for covid, perfected our own version of shrimp-and-grits, learned what to feed the wondrous birds of the air.

Tom encouraged my writing, and I begged him to write down his own stories. He had some doozies, and he was a good storyteller. They still call to be told.

The puppy is a slow old dog now. The azaleas are bigger. I’ve learned how to check the generator in hurricane season.

Today is our 13th anniversary. It’s the fourth one without his physical presence, but he’s everywhere.

And it’s time to feed the birds.

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