Relative Something

Today is September 19th. Thirty-one years ago today, Cyndie and I were married outdoors on the grounds of the Noerenberg Gardens on the shore of Lake Minnetonka, in Minnesota.

I wanted to have a sunrise wedding, but since that wouldn’t be appealing or convenient for guests, we compromised and made it 11:30. I got to have it in the morning, and the rest of the stakeholders were able to live with a middle-of-the-day ceremony.

The weather that day turned out to be a classic warm and sunny September day, which was a relief, because every day for the week prior had been rainy.

I don’t remember much in the way of specifics from that day, but one story I have often told is about the music. My friend, David K., and his then wife, Sue, had written a special song, just for us, for the event. I remember that hearing the song during the ceremony was one of the more emotional moments for me.

Weeks later, after we had returned from our honeymoon and were settling into a regular routine, I had occasion to ask David for a copy of the lyrics. He said that he would look for them. We did not have any recordings made of the ceremony, so the only version I had of their singing our song was in my memory. In time, David reported that he could not locate the lyrics.

The song was written exclusively for us, performed once, during the ceremony, and never again. Nothing recorded, and nothing written remains.

Seven years after we were married, we spent our anniversary in the hospital for the birth of our son, Julian. It was an incredible way to make this date even more special for us.

Cyndie and I coordinate buying a joint gift for each other on our anniversary. One year, we bought a Dyson vacuum. That’s true love, there: showing your love by buying a home appliance that is more expensive than you are comfortable spending.

This year we bought each other a tractor. Our love keeps growing.