Friday, June 24, 2005

Time for Watches or Crystal - or crystal watches!

Today, I celebrated FIFTEEN years of marital bliss. I believe my wife celebrated twelve! We were married on June 23, 1990, which, as I said, was fifteen years and about fifty pounds ago - for me that is. Ambra still looks the same as when she did when she was my twenty-three year old bride. She broke out our wedding pictures this afternoon and it brought back some memories. I remember being dragged from breakfast and dropped off a few miles from home on a broken down bicycle by my friends who stayed just beyond reach in my brother-in-law's car. Trust me, it wasn't as much fun as it sounds - especially when they took my pants! I remember being relatively calm until right before I entered the sanctuary with the pastor and my father.

I remember attending a church picnic on the weekend before the ceremony. We were youth workers and we got caught up in a frisbee-football game. I was on defense and found myself guarding my bride-to-be. She went out for a pass and my competitive nature took over. She was NOT going to catch a frisbee in the area I was defending! She began her "pattern" and I could see the quarterback was looking her way. The frisbee was in the air and through amazing strength of will and extraordinary athletic prowess, I was able to break up the pass. However, in the process, Ambra and I collided. I landed on top of her legs. About twenty minutes later, we were in the emergency room.

She had severely torn ligaments that I suppose, if you wanted to get really technical, you could say I caused. But I say - she was trying to catch a pass in my area of the zone. Her mother did not appreciate my point of view and actually brought up the subject of postponing the wedding. But if we had done that, we wouldn't have been able to create the magical moment you see to your left. It took Ambra so long to walk down the aisle at the beginning of the wedding that the trumpet player had to stop - he ran out of song and breath. We knew we couldn't take that long on the way out so I just picked her up and whisked her out. I remember most of the crowd clapping.

For our honeymoon, we went to Williamsburg, Virginia. It's a very nice and interesting place - except when you are unable to walk. There are cobblestones everywhere so wheelchairs do not work. There's nothing to do BUT walk. It was not much fun - the historical part, I mean. To your left is a picture of me in some colonial house. You might notice that I appear to be quite skeletal at this stage of my life. Trust me, I'm not ill - just skinny. Amazingly, Ambra was able to overlook my emaciated frame and agreed to marry me. Fifteen years later, I am most grateful.

6 comments:

Joy C. said...

Congratulations!!Just be thankful that baby blue suits were not in style when you got married!

Chuck said...

OK. I'm officially never visiting this blog again. There's slobber on my screen left over from this last message. Are you angling for another new big-screen or something? ughhhh.

Jeff A. Spry said...

C'mon, Chuck. Getting mushy once every fifteen years ought to be permitted - even by you.

Mike Cline said...

I'm just glad that there are still people who work through problems and make it 15 years. That said, I still feel sorry for Ambra.

Bruce Roberts said...

Hey, Tricia and I just passed the 12 year mark last month and I'm with Jeff, it's OK to get mushy every now and then. Hey, our wives need to know that we're still as in love with them now as when we married them. Now about that football game, I'm as competitive as anyone, but in the days before my wedding, if I saw Tricia running in my direction (whether there was a football or frisbee involved or not), the last thing on my mind would be slamming her to the ground and sending her to the ER. I don't think that move will make it on the Top 100 Romantic Ideas list.

Jeff A. Spry said...

About the football game - I defensed the pass. I didn't stop the play by laying out my fiance. I jumped to deflect the frisbee and ... oh, never mind. It WAS stupid.