Can It Be?

This cool evening I relax a bit. Many small tasks are finished; a huge activity awaits tomorrow. I hear my husband "eating" the border of our back lawn with his weed wacker.

Twenty-seven years ago tonight he and I stood at the front of an English-style sanctuary, facing both our fathers and the pastor of that church. Our dads, intoning ministerially, each read portions of the ceremony. The forty-member choir with which we'd often sung blended their voices from the balcony. A newly-wed couple we knew sang "Evergreen" before we lit our wedding candle.

Ah, memories. So young, so nervous. I'll always be grateful for my brother's remark before I headed up the aisle.

"You be about to jump de broom," he said, grinning, and I almost smiled back.

Now my hubby's come inside from the yard and has poured Martinelli's for us to sip. His eyes sparkle like the bubbling cider as we toast these remembrances, this union.

Our tale's been one of bumpy avenues and many days when smiles evaded us both. We came within a hair's breadth of quitting once, maybe twice. How interesting the views grow, though, as years pass beneath us long enough for wisdom to find inroads. Despite ourselves, we learn. We grow fonder. We love.

Glad I be we jumped dat broom.

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