Deep down in my memory basket I have preserved a cold, windy,
dark and cloudy November day in Antwerp just about a decade and a half ago.
Just as it was getting dark, Prof. Husband and I, only young
undergraduate students then, stood on the beach with a bottle of 1986 Margeaux
that a friend had given us. Rough, black clouds in the distance over the
English Channel threatened to launch a storm at any moment. It was too cold to
drink and our fingers were almost too stiff from the freezing water the wind
kept spraying at us to put our rings on, but there we were, exchanging vowels. Through
sickness and health. Until death do us part.
We didn’t linger, but went to a warm, cozy local restaurant
with brown wood paneling, red, thick velvet curtains, an open fireplace, warm wine and good food to celebrate the beginning of
the rest of our lives.
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