Imbolc Waxing Bloodroot Moon
We went to the St. Paul Grill tonight for our anniversary dinner. Our first date was coffee there after a St. Paul Chamber Orchestra Concert. I learned Kate was a physician and she learned I was not a lawyer, but a clergyman. Both surprised.
Tonight the place was hopping, full of an odd mixture of opera buffs and hockey fans. The state high school hockey tournament is in town at the Excel Arena and the Opera is at the Ordway Theatre, both next to each other only a block away from the St. Paul Hotel, location of the Grill.
In addition, just across the block on the diagonal is the Landmark Center, where, in 1990, on this day, Kate and I tied the knot and stomped on a glass in a silken napkin.
Over the meal tonight (lamb chops, medium rare for both of us with a creme brulee for dessert) we talked about the South America cruise to which we committed yesterday. 37 days, an Inca discovery theme, with ports of call all along western South America and up the east coast as far as and including Rio. This is a retirement present for Kate, a thank you for all her years of hard work as a doc. I’m just going along for the ride. (Ha.)
Marriage has a palpability, is a third thing in and of itself. When two come to anniversary, the thing they celebrate is not themselves, but this third thing they have made together. It is, in every way, as precious and significant as a child, as difficult and rewarding, too.
