Happy Anniversary
Usually
I think of couples having a second honeymoon to celebrate a milestone like ten,
twenty, or fifty years, not one. But my husband’s idea was romantic—to celebrate
our first anniversary at the same country inn that we went to for our
honeymoon. It was a nice idea, but the reality…
We
were a young couple in our early twenties—pre-kids/cellphone days. Working as
live-in house managers for a group home, our only expenses were food and car
insurance. Spontaneous spending was fun back then…like the shiny new acoustic guitar
Gene had to buy on our trip that hogged the back seat. He didn’t know how to
play the guitar and still doesn’t. So though it was a hot day in July, Gene
decided he needed Timberland winter boots. I tried not to roll my eyes or point
out the obvious—I mean, this was supposed to be romantic—but may have let a
tiny grunt of disapproval squeak through my teeth.
I
forget the order now…did he buy the boots, then realize he locked his keys
inside the car, or did he realize he locked them in and decide to go buy boots
anyway? Did the torrential downpour start after we asked the salesperson to
help us call a locksmith, or as he spent five minutes twisting a wire through
the cracked open window to unlock the door? Either way, it wasn’t fun. We were
hot, wet and irritated at the weather and each other, but he had boots.
The
problem with trying to reenact our honeymoon was the high expectations we
placed on this vacation. Was it fair to compare this week to one of the best
weeks of our lives? How could we reenact those fresh moments of discovering
places for the first time: splashing in the bubbling brook behind the inn;
racing barefoot downhill through the dandelions and soft grass; row boating on the
glistening waters of Lake Winnipesauke. It would feel like we were acting out a
favorite movie.
The
next day was sunny, a great day to try horseback riding. Not that we knew how
to ride horses, but we felt safe, led by a guide up a mountain trail. Mounting
the horse was harder than I thought, and the view much higher than it seemed
from the ground. The branches and crisp leaves crunched under the weight of the
horses. A light breeze tickled my neck in the shade and coolness of the mountain
path. All was quiet surrounded by the peace and beauty around us; birds singing
and chattering, horses snorting…until Gene sneezed.
“God
bless you,” I said.
He
sneezed again, and another rider said, “Bless you.” The third time he sneezed,
a different rider blessed him. The fourth time, well, he got a few looks.
“Are
you alright?” I whispered, wishing the thunderous sneezing would stop and I could
the listen to the birds again.
“No,
it’s allergies. I must be allergic to horses too.”
Gene
gets asthma around cats and some dogs, but they’re a fraction of the size of
the horse he was sitting on. I couldn’t hear anything but Gene’s wheezing for
the rest of the trail. I prayed he wouldn’t need a trip to the emergency room.
Thankfully, his breathing improved the farther we got from the horses.
The
allergies left him with a nose cold for the next two days. This wasn’t the
honeymoon I remembered.
We
decided to surprise my cousins on the way home and stop by their summer home on
Cape Cod. We could spend the day at the beach and drive home in the evening.
They
were surprised alright and so were we by the look on Cathy’s face as she met us
at the door. “Hey, what are you doing here? Didn’t you hear the weather
report?”
“No,
we’ve been at a country inn in New Hampshire without a TV.”
She
laughed. “A hurricane is on its way here in a few hours. Now you’re stuck here.”
“A
hurricane? No way!”
Gene
and I laughed so hard as Cathy said, “By the way, happy anniversary.”
For
future trips, we vowed to check the weather reports and travel with
anti-allergy medicine…just in case. As crazy as that trip was, it would be the
last week long vacation we’d take since God blessed us with five kids to raise.
Maybe for our thirtieth anniversary we’ll celebrate a third honeymoon, but I
say we head in a different direction. Jamaica sounds nice.
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