April 29, 2025
Twenty-five years ago I started my morning by stepping on a snake, but the day was definitely not snakebit. April 29, 2000 was the date of my first and only wedding, which has now led Janet and me to a wondrous silver anniversary.
The big event unfolded on the Florida Panhandle, where we’d recently bought a condo. Being from up north, I never knew about the miles of white sand and turquoise-blue water until we met, but a cozy spot called Inlet Beach had become our second home. I happened to look down while unloading the wedding supplies from our van and there by my foot was a large, limbless black reptile. As they say in the South, I went straight up.
On a perfect afternoon, we stood by the Gulf and said our vows. The ceremony was a tad unconventional: while the bride looked beautiful, the groom (with her blessing) wore a yard-sale Versace shirt and a Three Stooges tie. The moment our officiant pronounced us husband and wife, two members of the wedding party burst into our special song: “Whipping Post.” We capped off the day with a banquet of barbecue and some fantastic live music.
Sadly, our happiness was soon tempered by life’s realities. Before the year was over, our best man’s ailing heart had given out and we were faced with the terrible truth that my mom was suffering from dementia. She and Janet’s mother both left us in the next few years. We held each other close and kept going.
After a quarter-century we’re different people. My body creaks like the stairs in a haunted-house movie, and without hearing aids I’d be trapped in a muffled world. The fresh hell erupting from Washington 24/7 makes our trials more wearying. But we’ve kept our love fresh too.
We still visit the Gulf of Mexico as often as we can, and wherever we go, we maintain a beachy state of mind. We talk about everything, anything at all, and laugh until we split our sides. When one is hurting physically or emotionally, the other is always there. We’re not friction-free but in 9,125 days of married life, I doubt there’s been one when we didn’t say, “I love you.” With all due respect to Lou Gehrig, the guy who said, “I do,” on that beach is the luckiest man on the face of the earth.
❤️
Congratulations Dave!