Those were the words on the wedding cake when Darling Husband and I were married in Maine on Bastille Day 11 years ago today. The day before had been stinking hot, followed by torrential rains--the edge of hurricane Bertha. A friend got onto one of the last flights out of DC, but my eldest half-sister, Mikele, never made it out of Florida. Too bad, because as DH reminded me this morning, our getting married was her idea. I was all set to live in sin with DH, but Mikele (who's a year older than my mother) told me that we should get married for the Boy Wonder's sake. It seemed like a good idea at the time...and it still is.
Some Enchanted Evening
DH and I were going to celebrate for two nights. (Hey, why not? The only vacation we're taking is a weekend near Glenwood Springs at the end of the month.) So last night we went out for a romantic dinner at the Indian restaurant I discovered during my post-dental walk on Thursday (see post below), Bombay Clay Oven. On the way there, I realized that I hadn't told BW where we'd be, then remembered that I was carrying my cell phone--and there'd be no reason to call us anyway.
Just as we were about to scrape up the dregs of the sauces from our fantabulous meal--the best Indian food either of us has had outside of London--my cell phone rang. What the...?
"Yes, dear," I said drolly. His voice panicky, BW told me that the toilet had overflowed in the downstairs bathroom, water was all over the floor and dripping into the basement. What should he do? I told him where to find old towels to mop up, and said we'd be home soon. SIGH. But we still polished our plates before we left.
Once home, we determined that the overflow was clear water from the tank (whew!) and that the leak was only through the hole around a heating pipe. I called Kevin the plumber, who came by this morning and fixed the problem. No extra charge for a Saturday call, as he lives nearby and we've paid him many thousands of dollars in the past year to redo the heating and plumbing in our "remodeled" house.
This afternoon, DH and I took Jenny for a walk in a gully along Cherry Creek, where nearly everyone lets their dogs run free. We stood in the shade under a tree by a waterfall while Jenny enjoyed her favorite activity: barking at the water, making splashes and biting them. We were all peaceably enjoying ourselves (if you discount the incessant barking), when all of a sudden, a policeman came scampering down from the bike path up above. He gave us a citation for having a dog offleash--never mind that he was the only other person there and she was just standing in the middle of the creek. The fine was $50, which we didn't think was so bad until DH read the fine print on the citation: another $10 for a "bureaucratic fee" (as if the $50 doesn't go to the bureaucracy), plus $20 for a "victim assistance fee." What victims--the bacteria in the water, the sparrows frightened off by Jenny's barking? Next time I'm taking her where the creek can't be seen from the path.
Some Enchanted Evening II
DH and I were going to continue the anniversary festivities by grazing at various establishments downtown, but it looked like rain (which blew over yet again...damn!) and I was tired. Plus--and I know this is neurotic, but I've had a lot of bad luck lately--I was afraid that something bad would happen, as bad things happen in threes. (Never mind that I've had way more than 3 bad things happen to me.) So we did the next best, and way cheaper, thing: ate Popeye's chicken at home, along with a fresh green salad I made as a healthy counterbalance. Then DH and I watched a DVD "rockumentary" (so-called, but with no nod to Spinal Tap) of Brian Wilson's "Pet Sounds" concerts in London, during the latter part of which I brushed Jenny. Good vibrations, and nothing bad happened--at least not to me. But while we were watching, two squad cars blocked our street and police arrested a guy in a pickup truck two houses away. This kind of thing never happened in our quiet little cul-de-sac in Charlottesville.