I met my husband in the Houston Hobby airport in December 1993. We had both been in Houston on business and on the same flight back to Dallas, which was delayed. We got to chatting as people in airports do, exchanged business cards, and said we should get together for drinks sometime in the new year. He was married, I was married, and even though both marriages were in trouble, nothing came of the “get together for drinks” (or anything else).
Fast forward a year later to December 1994. By then my marriage had disintegrated and I was living on my own. I was addressing Christmas cards and ran across his business card. I sent him a card that wished him well and reminded him that he’d promised me a drink in 1994 and while I was a patient person, the year was about over. As it turned out, he was also on his own and he promptly reached out to make a date for that drink.
We tried several times, but it was a crazy time for me with project deadlines and all-night press checks so I kept having to reschedule. Finally I told him that we’d just have to make it sometime in January.
Then on New Year’s Eve afternoon he called and said he was determined to keep his promise and asked that I meet him at a local dive for oysters and beer. I had nothing else going on and I was secretly pleased by his perseverance. So we had our official first date on New Year’s Eve afternoon in 1994 — more than a year after we had met.
1995 was pretty tumultuous. We dated. I got mad and threw him out of my life (three times). I took a job based in Omaha but which had me traveling every week anywhere from Florida to California. He was starting his own architectural practice. It was nuts. We finally both formally ended our marriages that year. We wound up on the same divorce court docket on the same day and carpooled together to the courthouse to get divorced together. (When we later got married the clerk thought we’d previously been married to each other because our divorce dates were the same.)
Finally in 1996 I said yes. For various reasons we picked a weekend in April and a trip to Las Vegas for the wedding. We had no money so we flew to Las Vegas on Southwest Airlines. This was during the time when Southwest used plastic, numbered boarding passes. We had numbers 19 and 20. We were going to be in Las Vegas the 19th and 20th of April and couldn’t decide which day we wanted to get married. My (soon-to-be) husband put the boarding passes behind his back, I picked the hand that had #19 in it, so we were married on the 19th of April.
As much as we still love each other, we stay together for the good of the world. It seems that our marriage is connected to some very critical dates in recent history. Our mutual divorces were final on 9/11 (1995). April 19th, our anniversary, is also associated with the Bay of Pigs, the Oklahoma City bombing and the Branch Davidian compound event. We figure if we ever get divorced, the world might actually end.
But regardless, every year since our first official date, we’ve gone back to the same dive and had oysters and beer on New Year’s Eve day. Counting our first date, this year makes 21 years in a row. It marks 19 years of marriage and the start of another year of adventure. It’s great being married to your best friend and partner in crime. He’s been through a lot with my RA and I give thanks every day that he’s there.
So that’s the story and how I’m spending my New Year’s. Tomorrow’s another year, another dozen oysters and some cold Miller Lite.
Hope that 2015 treats us all with kindness and health. Thanks for checking in.