Happy Anniversary
Wedding Day (Dec. 30, 2009)
We got married at the jail in Bisbee, AZ. At least this is the story my husband likes to tell. We did get married in Bisbee, but in a tiny courtroom adjacent to the jail. The judge lacked humor and scoffed when Ron let out an audible sigh instead of saying the scripted, “I do” after being asked if he takes Beth Colburn as his lawful wife.
A few friends and family members attended and afterwards we had dinner at the Bisbee Grille now called The Bisbee Table, a place where I had waited tables for years. The food was delicious and the mood festive. It was a brief interlude in our otherwise crazy lives. And that day we promised to slow down. “It’s the journey, not the destination,” I said so often, Ron parroted it when I was overwhelmed, which was often.
The following year we donned our wedding day outfits and went back to Bisbee for our first anniversary. This time we ate at Café Roka where I was transported to culinary bliss and said, “Let’s make a promise to come here every year for our anniversary.”
Ron agreed.
That was December 30, 2010. Life got busy and in 2017, I remembered the promise we made and booked reservations at Café Roka. We sat at a table on the second floor overlooking the bar and a half dozen tables where people appeared to be enjoying their evening out. “Why did we stop coming here?” I asked.
Ron shrugged his shoulders before poking a jumbo shrimp with his fork.
Happy Anniversary 2017
Little did we know then that years would pass before I booked our next reservation. This time for our fourteenth wedding anniversary. So much in our lives and in the world had changed: I met my daughter, Kelsey, who I had given up for adoption. Ron and I had battled countless health issues. We moved from the ranch into town. And the world was upended by Covid-19.
Wearing our original wedding outfits (because we’re dorks), sitting at the same table overlooking the first-floor dining room, Ron and I ordered cocktails and again, promised each other to slow down. By the time dinner arrived, I was deep in thought about the passing of time. I was recovering from my third round of covid. Ron was scheduled to have hernia surgery and was still sore after dislocating his hip for the second time. These things weighed heavily on me earlier when the hostess first told us we would be seated on the second floor. Could we make it up the stairs?
Happy Anniversary 20023
How in God’s name did we get here? Wasn’t it yesterday when Ron and I first met? He was the engineering manager at the local electric co-op. I was teaching ESL and managing a grant for Cochise College. I had big plans to switch careers, and Ron was bebopping around in his Cessna 172 and planning hunting trips. We belonged to a local gym, and I was biking 20 to 30 miles several times a week.
Now, we can be found most nights watching something on Netflix before going to bed by nine. Before Ron’s hernia surgery, I set up the bedroom and the bathrooms so that he could rest and get around easily when necessary. Our house resembled a private hospital suite with prescription drugs lining the kitchen counters and a medical walker, the fancy kind with hand brakes, next to the bed. At some point, I caught Ron shuffling down the hall behind the walker clad in a t-shirt, boxer shorts, and white socks. He turned around when he heard me laughing hysterically. “What’s so funny?” he wanted to know.
“All of it, “I said. I pictured visiting my grandparents when I was a kid and was pretty sure my grandpa had worn boxer shorts. “I don’t care what happens, I don’t want visitors, especially kids in this house until we get our act together.”
“What are you talking about? Why not?”
“Did you enjoy visiting old people when you were a kid?”
“I don’t know. What does that have to do with anything.”
“We’re old, Ron. We’re those people! Look at what you’re wearing and tell me we’re not old.”
Ron looked down at his socks and rested a protective hand over his hernia incision. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts like hell.”
It was the first belly laugh we’d shared in a long time. And it felt good. It felt so good.
I don’t know what the future holds, but I remain an optimist and have marked in my calendar for next year, Make an anniversary reservation at Café Roka. I am also a realist, so in small print I included, request a table on the first floor.
