We’re not good at remembering our own anniversary. This post probably wouldn’t pop up today if I hadn’t remembered to schedule it a few weeks ago. Doesn’t mean I love her any less. We were married in our apartment in Syracuse by Judge Bersani (not because we knew him, but because he was the one who was willing to show up). I’m not sure what the vows were. I wore a freshly bought suit that her mother basted the hems on the night before (oh yes, and my favorite red leather skinny tie). She wore a dress she made herself. Some of our guests were uninvited, some of our invited guests couldn’t be there; we may have squeezed 20 people into the apartment. Our parents showered us with some of the things we needed to transition from college students to married people, such as an upholstered couch instead of plastic-webbed lawn chairs. After the ceremony, we went out to dinner at a simple restaurant we liked on the west side.
Our agreement was to do it ringless, for three reasons: 1) neither one of us cared a whit about diamonds and gold (still don’t), 2) we were children of the ’60s/’70s, and 3) we had zero money. At the last minute, my father apparently decided that wouldn’t do and sent out an inexpensive ring, so I was obligated to break that agreement and present her with a ring. Years later, at a time when we thought the marriage would probably take, we bought matching rings that we wear today.
When I hear of people spending $40,000 on a wedding, it makes me insane. If that were money I wouldn’t even miss, I still couldn’t spend it on a party. If people put half the focus on their marriages that they put on their weddings, the divorce rate would be very different. Focus on the marriage, not the wedding.