An Anniversary to Remember

An Anniversary to Remember
Just about everyone has heard a tale of a wedding-gone-wrong. A bride is left at the altar. A six-tiered cake crashes to the floor. Hurricane-force winds blow over a reception tent. This is not one of those stories.
    On July 4, 2002, I married my husband in a wedding that exceeded all of my expectations. Perhaps that’s because I had none. The fact is, I had prepared for disaster mainly because we’d opted for a destination wedding in Scotland. I quickly determined that planning a wedding a continent away, and attempting to communicate with a nation of people who speak a practically unintelligible version of English, was asking for trouble.
    Calling anyone in Scotland took me about 10 minutes to accomplish, what with all the confusing country and local codes to tack on to the phone numbers. When I finally got through, the conversations always went something like this:

ME: Hello? I’m calling from the United States? About the flowers for my wedding? I e-mailed you earlier?
HER: Aye, lass. Foos yer doos? Sooora, I’m a bit crabit noo. We’re burached.
ME: Well, um, yes. Uhh, I just wanted to make sure you’ll have access to the flowers I suggested for the bouquets and the centerpiece in my e-mail. If not, I wanted to talk about what you do have and make changes.
HER: Air ye real, bairn?
ME: I’m sorry, what?
HER: Hoo dee ye ken what I hae?
ME: What?
HER: Aye’m noo galoot, ye noo.
ME: Well, then … uh … can I speak to Galoot please?
HER: A’ll hae yer braw thistle, ye ken?

Through some sort of miracle, not to mention a few dozen phone calls, I managed to bridge the language gap and plan my wedding at a stunning stone manor located on the banks of the River Lossie in the picturesque village of Elgin. A few months later, I was dressed in white and walking down the mansion’s centuries-old stone steps behind my mother and two young stepdaughters. My husband-to-be waited outside, flanked by his brother and the minister. A bagpiper played beneath a tree in the distance.
    That afternoon, I felt like I was in a dream. The sky was a brilliant blue, broken up by lofty clouds. The river shone like glass on the other side of a crumbling balustrade. The lawn was intensely green, giving way to rolling hills and a lush forest. The turreted mansion rose up like a storybook palace behind me.
    It was literally the most magical moment of my life.
    Which is good, because I like to think it makes up for our anniversaries.
    Yes, as memorable as our wedding was, our anniversary celebrations are something I’d rather forget. With no language barriers to hinder us, you’d think we could simply make anniversary plans and carry them out without incident. But disaster always strikes, with all the drama of a $5,000 wedding dress ripping at the seams.
    Last year, for example, Hubs planned an amazing overnight getaway, which was to occur while we were visiting my in-laws in LA. Wouldn’t you know, the trip got canceled.
Along with our anniversary celebration.
    Another year, we opted to set aside a large gift check to create a “wedding wall,” a space in our den that we’d fill with romantic wedding photos and memorabilia.
    But then, life happened, and before we knew it, our wedding wall money was gone. Today, our precious memories are on permanent display in a plastic box in our attic.
    Other anniversaries, my TV-reporter husband has had to work. Because we opted to marry on a major holiday, I’ve spent more than a few Fourth of July evenings staring glumly at the television, watching him describe the scene from the downtown fireworks celebration. Even when he’s had the day off, we’ve always stayed in. This might shock you, but babysitters aren’t exactly clamoring for work on Independence Day.
    I’ve always told myself I’d take my amazing wedding over 20 fabulous anniversary celebrations. And I’ve never told myself this more than when a so-called friend’s husband surprised her recently with tickets for a 10th anniversary trip to Antigua. Sure she’ll have fun drinking frozen daiquiris and sunning herself in the Caribbean, but I like to imagine that on her big day 10 years ago, her bouquet clashed horribly with her dress. Or perhaps her videographer’s battery went dead just as she opened her mouth to say, “I do.”
    Is it so wrong to hope she chokes on an abalone burger while she’s overseas?
    No, you won’t find me crying over spilt champagne this year. Instead, I’ve decided to be proactive. I mean my wedding was an epic romance only because I expected a horror movie, right? Why not try the same strategy with my upcoming anniversary?
    That’s why I’ve made reservations for two this July 4 at Fat Mo’s, where I’m told the burgers are as big as your head and extra greasy. Now that’s hot! Next, I think we’ll head over to Coyote Ugly for drinks. I can think of nothing more romantic than standing by as my husband-of-seven-years gawps at the ho’ down taking place on top of the bar.
    We’ll end our night in a room at Nashville’s own Drake Motel. It is, after all, “where the stars stay.” The stars who are broke, addicted to drugs and on the run from the cops, anyway.
    This should guarantee us a night to remember. An anniversary like none other. And a tale to make my friends green with envy.
    Or at least green.
    I’ll take whatever I can get.