An Anniversary for the Ages

My wife and I had another anniversary last week. After 47 years, they are still special, but with age comes wisdom: Where we have dinner to mark a special occasion isn’t nearly as important as being together.

I say that based on a pair of memories stemming from our time in Colorado years ago.

The first took place just outside of Boulder, at a restaurant carved into the foothills. The drive up to the parking lot was so steep we had to use valet parking.

Once inside, our eyes widened as we surveyed the high prices. But hey, it was our special night, right?

I’m not sure what cut of steak I had that night, but the most memorable event came when I cut into the asparagus. It came with the dinner (had to, because I never would have willingly ordered it).

As my knife descended into it, the slippery vegetable shot straight up into the air. As it dove earthward, it landed on my suit jacket, cascaded across my tie, and slithered down my pants before settling on the floor.

Aside from the shirt, everything else I wore that night had to be dry-cleaned.

Contrasting Memories

That was the only time we ever visited that restaurant. The meal was fine, but what we discovered in a major metropolitan area with a plethora of choices were too many options.

Generally, when we went out, we chose the same half dozen or so eateries we were familiar with. We knew we liked their food, so why risk a lot of money on something strange and then discover we muffed our choice?

The second memory took place a year later in much more modest surroundings: our dining room at home.

Having been downsized by the agency where I worked, I was six weeks into my foray into self-employment. To say money was tight would be an understatement.

Knowing of our dire straits, my parents had sent us a check to help with our anniversary dinner. We used the money to buy a nice cut of meat and a side dish or two, which my wife cooked at home.

We created ambiance by turning out the lights in the dining room and using candles. It worked.

That night stands out in my mind for many reasons, the chief one being the ridiculous weight we can add to a special occasion.

Thinking we must go to the finest restaurant around (or priciest show or hottest attraction) only creates stress. Trying to act like royalty without royalty’s resources is both pretentious and foolish.

Enjoying the Candlelight

Many anniversary dinners have come and gone since then. But the enjoyment of eating by candlelight with little more to lean on than each other still brings a smile to my face.

I say that as I contemplate the extreme lengths American society has gone to in an attempt to make everything into a spectacle.

Super Bowl tickets have soared into the stratosphere. The Final Four round is often played in places so big you can barely see the court from the top rows. Big-name concerts often cost more than a month’s earnings.

And yet, the hype and hoopla don’t make the event more special, the evening more rewarding, or the expense less painful for our wallets.

Much has been written recently about our need for community in an age of impersonal social media and online contact.

It starts with being more concerned with who is across the table when we sit down for dinner than where it’s served.