Today marks 10 years of marriage to The Chef! I wish that we could do something fantastic to celebrate, but alas! During a pandemic, it truly is enough to have each other and our love (so corny). Cheers to us…and anyone else celebrating something important during these awful times.
The Chef and I were married on 11 December 2010. I love him more than ever (saccharine, I know).
A few pics from our quick anniversary getaway to Hocking Hills…
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.
As such, I find the postcard couple (above) completely adorable. And, after seven years of wedded bliss, still entirely relatable.
On Sunday morning, my fine husband made me some fabulous, tasty tres leches cake hot tea. He’s a keeper.
I’d like to wish my husband a very happy fourth wedding anniversary!
“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
“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.
“Give me a wife who, like the moon, won’t appear in my sky every day.”-Anton Chekhov
“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
“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.
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.
The Chef and I are somewhere on this spectrum of cute coupledom: