Wedding Anniversary: 8 Years of Marital Bliss

The Chef and I were married on 11 December 2010. I love him more than ever (saccharine, I know).

Postcard, 1908

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My Word! You Do Tickle Me.

Today marks exactly seven years of marriage to The Chef.

When we started dating, we lived in different cities. All of our early conversations were through the Internet (where we “met”) or phone. 

My word! (Postcard circa 1910)

As such, I find the postcard couple (above) completely adorable. And, after seven years of wedded bliss, still entirely relatable.

I Was in the Middle Before I Knew That I Had Begun

I’d like to wish my husband a very happy fourth wedding anniversary!

Engagement Photo.  November 2010.

Engagement Photo. November 2010.

“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”-Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

[Alternative Muses] Creative Couples: Anton Chekhov and Olga Knipper

“Let us learn to appreciate there will be times when the trees will be bare, and look forward to the time when we may pick the fruit.”-Anton Chekhov

Playwright and short story genius Anton Chekhov and actress Olga Knipper had a short, independent, mostly long-distance marriage. It began with a low-key, very private wedding in May 1901, and ended with Chekhov’s tragic death three years later. Neither career was sacrificed to the traditional dictates of matrimony.

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“Give me a wife who, like the moon, won’t appear in my sky every day.”-Anton Chekhov

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“And what does it mean–dying? Perhaps man has a hundred senses, and only the five we know are lost at death, while the other ninety-five remain alive.”-Anton Chekhov, The Cherry Orchard

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“In all the universe nothing remains permanent and unchanged but the spirit.”-Anton Chekhov, The Seagull

Anton Chekhov died on 15 July 1904, with his wife by his side. Olga Knipper outlived her husband by nearly fifty-five years.

Three Years Ago Today I Married My Love

 Our wedding ceremony was cobbled together with rock and roll and bagpipes and honest poetry, love and tears; there were no vows, except to bluntly say, “I do.” If the act of marriage itself is not  promise enough, then an oath is meaningless armor against the inevitable.

Bells Are Ringing

Bells Are Ringing

I DO NOT LOVE YOU EXCEPT BECAUSE I LOVE YOU BY PABLO NERUDA

The Chef and I are somewhere on this spectrum of cute coupledom: