Ten years!

Last time we went to Olive Garden for our anniversary, our waiter left us a special message on our pumpkin cheesecake (which was free since it was our anniversary). This year we had a different waitress and different cheesecake, but she still left us a special message, and our strawberry cheesecake was still free.

The couple at the table next to us were celebrating 55 years together, which makes our ten years seem like a grain of sand in the hourglass of life, but it’s something to aspire to, the sunshine to dream of on cloudy days. And if I have anything to say about it, it’s a dream we’ll see fulfilled.

Happy anniversary to the man who’s done his best to make all my dreams come true, my partner, my encourager, my motivator, my best friend. The best is yet to come!

(c) 2019. All rights reserved.

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D-I-V-O-R-C-E

When I was twenty-three, my marriage sank to the bottom of Lake Despair.  Okay, it hadn’t exactly been smooth sailing for the four years that it lasted, but I had tried to make it work for the sake of the son my husband (now ex-husband) and I shared.  Tomcat was three and a half the day our divorce was finalized.

I spent the weekend I turned twenty-three moving out of the home we had created, leaving the life we had made for ourselves behind.  He refused to sign the papers accepting service at first – he didn’t want a divorce, he said.  But here’s the thing: He’d been looking for a place to move, away from me and our son and closer to the mistress he’d been seeing for four years, closer to the son he shared with her.

The day we were scheduled to appear in court for the hearing on the stipulation, he didn’t even bother to show up.