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.