After the 50th anniversary of our meeting a couple of weeks ago, our 47th wedding anniversary isn’t earth-shaking news. But we celebrated it anyway.
We made a special dinner, preceded by a glass of red wine on our patio. There was a gentle breeze, and our backyard garden seemed especially beautiful lit by the setting sun. As we do more often at this stage of life, we noted how lucky we have been.
Peter raised his glass and made a toast to forty-seven more years. Since that’s not going to happen, I suggested that we make the most of what’s left and try to make a graceful exit when the time comes.
We drank to that.