We started the day off with a little controversy.  Chris and Rudie the Dog went off to fill our ice chest, and as they were leaving, I announced that I would be picking up our flowers.  “Our flowers?” he said.  “Yes, yours and mine,” I said.  I had ordered a rose boutineer for him, and a small bouquet for me.  “Were you thinking I was going to dress up?” he asked.  “Because I want to wear shorts and my fish shirt.”

Chris has a famous fish shirt.  I bought it for him a couple of years ago.  One day, when he wore it into the Starbucks, one of the baristas looked up and said, “Nice fish shirt, Grandpa!”  That endeared it to him even more, for some perverse reason.

He also had new shorts, after mysteriously painting the crotch in his old ones while we were painting the upstairs.  We were in Nova Scotia the weekend before, and we stopped at a Frenchy’s, a sweetly infamous used clothing chain, and we bought Chris a new (used) pair of shorts and a new pair of jeans and a new baseball cap, all for $8.

“Well,” I said doubtfully.  “The rose might look a trifle odd with the fish shirt.”

“I don’t care,” he said adamantly.

“Okay,” I said.

So I went off to pick up the flowers from Hawkes, and he went off to get the ice, and a few things from the store.  When I got home, I finished cleaning, then started cooking.

The night before, I had made lemon curd and raspberry tarts, which looked funny but tasted all right, and I cleaned all the silver, figuring that made sense for our silver anniversary.  But there was a lot more to do.  I was making all kinds of little nibbles, including mini chicken salad croissants, blueberry scones, fruit, veg, and cheese trays, cheese and spinach tartlets in filo dough, bruchetta, and was counting on Chris to make shrimp scampi and guacamole dip.  I also stacked up the cake and got it ready to take down to the garden, and then made the kids’ punch.  Actually, we were all drinking it, even though I had plenty of wine, some beer, and four bottles of Spanish sparkling wine. I also made tea, and Chris made iced coffee.

Then I took a shower and changed into my fancier clothes, grabbed my bouquet and the rings, and went on down to the garden.  It was a garden party, after all.  I pinned Chris’ rose onto his fish shirt, and he gamely wore it all afternoon. 

Clouds threatened to block the Sun at one point, but I waved them away, and they left.

It was a nice group of mixed ages, from kids to older folks, and Rudie was extremely well behaved with the kids, which was good to see, since we are just finishing up our home study process.  By the end of the afternoon, she was very tired.

One of our son and heir’s dear friends, Sean, came to the party and brought us a card that read “Happy Anniversary, Mother and Dad”.  It was touching, and when I opened it, a $20 bill fluttered out.  It was the first time we got money in a card since my grandmother died.  She used to send us each $5 for our birthdays, and $1 for Christmas.

At some point, we exchanged the tiny silver rings we had bought for the occasion, and we were toasted by our friends with the Spanish champagne or the sparkling apple cider, depending on their age and taste.  Then we cut into the cake, and everybody settled down for a sugar fix.

I kept putting my bouquet down somewhere, and one of the kids, Olivia, kept finding it and bringing it back.  I realized I wasn’t going to be able to ditch it after a few times, so I just carried it the rest of the afternoon, except for the flowers I pulled out and gave to Olivia.

By the end of the afternoon, after the train came through, we waved goodbye to all, and Sean helped to bring all the trays and things upstairs.  It was almost a little reprise of our wedding, without the doubts about what comes next, and without having to take the tux back to the store the next day. 

Twenty-five years is a long time ... but the next twenty-five will surely fly like the wind.