Yesterday we visited London’s far east side north of the Thames, a landscape permanently under construction, or perhaps deconstruction. Light rail rocked us side to side as it gave us an overview of former dockyards now occupied by gleaming apartment blocks amidst the noise and debris.
Mrs & Mr for 20 years today. Here’s the rock which keeps her band of gold company:
It came from 47th Street in Manhattan, which is a regular diamond mine. We chose it about five years after we chose each other.
Recently she had to take her wedding ring off for a scan. You don’t mess with MRIs. It was the first time in all those years her finger has gone bare. It made me think about how nothing says “You’re mine” like a ring, and how I’m OK with that. Just wear the one myself.
Speaking of domesticity, I saw this and had to show it to her:
20 years is supposed to be china, but I’m willing to go back to our year of the toaster (4th anniversary is appliances, at least in the US). You can watch the bread being rendered into a higher plane of existence! She wasn’t impressed.
I always take her romantic places to celebrate.
In the States it’s fall, here it’s autumn. Too literal for you GB? Wonder what it’s called in the rest of the world, the googling of which might ruin a perfectly good post. Perhaps there’s a list like this one for driving.
The US has spoken. They’re going to keep on keeping on.
