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| Driving over the dry Salinas River bed. |
It was a beautiful spring day, perfect for an outdoor ceremony.
The reception was held inside the big ol' barn. Yes, a barn - heads and antlers on the wall, straw on the floor.
The modest entryway opened up to a spectacular open-beamed, chandelier-hanging, twinkly lights-festooned barn. Beautiful.
We listened to country music, swigged bottled Pacifico beer with lime, and dined on a Tri-tip steak barbecue dinner - prepared behind the barn - the alluring aroma wafting through the open doors. Later, as the sun slipped lower in the sky we gave the bride and groom our See-Ya-Soon hugs.
With Matt and Karin's newly born marriage disappearing in our rear-view mirror, we head home, thinking about our own long-lived marriage.
How long?
Twenty-five?
No, I think it's longer.
I don't know, do the math.
No, you figure it out.
Well, I know one thing: I know I wasn't born married, but I can't remember not being married.
Twenty-nine in July. Or was it June?
Wait, what?
