I recently celebrated my anniversary. I got a box of
dark chocolate buttercreams. A small box for taking small bites. I’m still
recovering from dental work.
I’m not writing about candy or how difficult it’s been
for me to remember any anniversary let alone the 46th one. That
number, 46, is weird and wonderful all wrapped up in the question of “How in
the world did that happen?” No. My topic is math. My father-in-law had a
special formula for calculating anniversaries. His method said that every one after the 25th should be counted twice. So, I get to add an
additional 42 years to my 46. The grand total is 88. I haven’t looked it up yet,
but I think that puts me in the platinum range for gifts.
The message on the card I bought for my husband says:
“Sometimes
they knew
what the other
was thinking
or feeling or going
to say or do. It
wasn’t magic
or hocus pocus
it was just
one of the
lovely side
effects
of a lifetime
of love.”
I don’t get any expensive jewelry, just a trip to Bouchercon Nashville 2024, a writer’s conference. That will be precious enough.
No, I did not write the poem. The sentiment was written by someone else for Sunrise greeting cards. I bought it at my local post office. It was a great find.
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