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.
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
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:
Today is my wedding anniversary. Two years ago, The Chef and I were rocking out to our Bookish Punk Rock Scottish Vintage Poetry-Laden Party with a Wedding in the Middle. I walked out to the sweet, sweet sounds of The Clash and the ceremony was composed strictly of poetry by Rumi, Mary Pauline Collier (my husband’s grandmother), and my favourite, Pablo Neruda.
*I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You by Pablo Neruda was the heart of our wedding ceremony. We are weird like that.
Shoes
Centerpiece
First Kiss
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