Not for sissies

Brian and I had our eleventh wedding anniversary on the day we flew back to Germany. There wasn't much chance to celebrate. By that I mean no candlelight, wine, tablecloths that sort of thing.

But if you call sitting at a brightly lit airport bar, watching playoff baseball, and waiting for a delayed flight celebrating, then we had a great time. Actually, it was sort of romantic. I even got a public display of affection out of it. Sitting together in the middle row on an eight hour flight wasn't so bad either. There's something entirely sentimental about flipping up the arm rest.

I am not an expert on anyone else's love story but my own, and eleven years (or seventeen to be exact) isn't that long in the scheme of your whole life.

What I can tell you for sure is that love is not for sissies. Don't forget that your bloody beating heart is the hardest working muscle in the body. No wonder that's the symbol we use for love. If it were all about roses and cherubs, then the symbol would be... an earlobe or something.

Maybe on our anniversary next year, we will go out to a nice dinner like normal people. We can have candlelight and tablecloths and all that crap. Maybe we will go on a three hour bike ride, or stay home and watch movies. We will certainly not be on a transatlantic flight... but more on that later.

What you do the very day isn't what matters. It's every day that does. So happy anniversary, Brian, whatever day you read this.