Danger, Life Ahead!

Did I tell you I decided to join a recreational volleyball league? I desperately need something to do in the evenings besides sit on the couch watching television. Don't get me wrong, there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.  It can just become incredibly boring, and slightly frightening.  As in, is this really what the rest of my life is going to be like?  My kids gone with their own lives, and me watching TV with the cats every night? Oh how depressing and terrifying! Let's not do that, shall we?  I am more than that.  I may have lost myself somewhere along the way, but I'm not far. I can feel it.

So...volleyball. It was the only sport I enjoyed playing in high school, and I have thought on occasion about doing it again, but was always too busy.  Now I am less busy :).  On the night I met Mike at that birthday party (see blog post of July 19, 2014 titled The Beginning), I had just come from a church youth group event (not kidding) at which we had played some casual volleyball.  It feels like that is what I was doing last, before I was interupted by 30 years of a doomed marriage.  It feels like picking up where I left off.  As if this story of my marriage was a book I was reading, and now I've finished it and have continued on with my life. Is this what a mid-life crisis is?  I hope not.  God, how cliché.

So driving down Crowchild Trail one day over the summer, I saw one of those overpass banners advertising the Calgary Sport and Social Club. I thought that was probably just what I wanted, so I looked them up online, and sure enough, they were just the thing.  Not only do they have a variety of recreational sports to choose from, but they have local pub and restaurant sponsors where teams are encouraged to patronise and return the favour. They also have annual parties and social events. Just what I need to prevent ending up as some kind of sad and lonely old lady with memories petrified like driftwood washed up on the shore of someone else's life.

Speaking of petrified, having decided on this, I became paralysed by panic. Fear of meeting new people, stepping wayyy outside my comfort zone, playing a sport for the first time in (30!) years.  My kids were shocked when I brought it up.  This is not the mom they have come to know and love.  They actually did double-takes and asked me to repeat myself.  I'm sure the poor darlings thought I had lost what was left of my mind.  The divorce finally pushing me over that thin edge into the delirium of mid-life crisis. So remarkable was this turn of events, that my sisters-in-law asked me if I had been drinking when I made this decision. My mom suggested that I was going to need extra acupuncture sessions to deal with the pain that playing a sport at my age would surely result in. Thanks mom.

My anxiety about this brilliant plan persisted. Thinking about it literally made me feel like I was going to start hyperventilating.  So I stopped thinking about it.  Leaving my decision about registration to the last possible moment.  I told myself that if I registered, it didn't mean I actually had to show up. And if I did happen to show up, I didn't have to actually enter the building. Or I could just hide and watch the first day. And if I really went through with it and did it, I didn't have to go again if I didn't enjoy it. So having practically put myself into an alternate universe in which volleyball was only a dream that someone had once and was so outside of the laws of physics as to be impossible to exist, I screwed my courage to the sticking place and registered. I was sure I would be too late anyway, and registration would be full. It wasn't, damn it!

My whole family told me how very proud they were of me.  My daughters were, as always, entirely supportive once they ascertained I was not a pod person.  My sisters-in-law threatened to come over and drive me to volleyball themselves if I considered not going.  Nothing like family to make you accountable for every questionable and crazy decision you make in the delirium of mid-life crisis.

I received an email from my team captain with the team roster and contact information.  Now I knew my teammates names.  Now they were real people. I was part of a team.  Kind of cool!  Our team name, however, is so not cool. I'm not even going to tell you what it is. I don't know how it was decided on, I certainly don't remember the option to vote on name choices, so I don't know what happened there.  That may well have been the most fun part of the whole adventure, and I was somehow left out of it! It's possible this could've had something to do with my last minute registration. Lesson learned there.

I combed the club website, dutifully filling out my waiver and trying in vain to fill my brain with enough rules and regulations minutia that this wouldn't feel so completely unknown. They don't post the game schedule until 48 hours before the game, so it wasn't until then that I discovered my first match would be at my old high school, in the same gym where I last officially played volleyball!  I took that as a sign from the Universe, and it bolstered my resolve quite a bit.  Then I made myself so busy on that first game day that I didn't have time to think about it until I was on my way, borderline late, having devoted the last 30 minutes before I left to raptly watching various YouTubers explain in detail how exactly to play volleyball. It was completely silly! Really, of all the things I have been through in my life, especially recently, I was afraid of volleyball!  Ridiculous.

Anyway, the first night went well.  My teammates are friendly and some as shy as I. And I'm not the oldest on my team!  That was a nice surprise.  I don't play any more lamely than some others there, and I actually did much better than I expected to. Some members on my team are absolutely fierce, and I look to them as my role models. My team got our asses kicked, but we will get better. I'm looking forward to next week. It has even brought out a competitive edge in me that I didn't know I had!  I've already looked up YouTube advice on how to improve my volleyball skills.  I'm going to kick ass.  Or at least shins. 

It was really bizarre being back in my old high school. It is such a large and imposing building in a beautiful old neighbourhood (Crescent Heights) that I didn't expect that typical phenomenon of childhood places looking smaller, but it actually did!  I got lost in the hallways leaving (surprise!), and stumbled on my old class picture. At first I was a little confused as to why I couldn't find my photo in the array of vaguely familiar fresh-faces. Then I realized I had to look under my maiden name...duh! I have been someone else for so long that I forgot who I was. Who I am.  

Seeing my little grad photo was startling. It was taken shortly after I met my ex, and I had forgotten that it is the same as the one he used to carry around in his wallet. Through all his military career, in every theatre of operation and training.  Last time I saw it, it had gun tape on the edges, from where he used to tape it up in his tent or sleeping space where he could see it. I wish I could go back and tell that young woman a couple of things. In fact, I wish future-me would come visit and tell ME a couple of things now, thank you very much. I have some questions.

Next time I have a game there, at my old school, I'm going to take some more time to look around at my leisure. Visit my old haunts and see if there is still a giant mural of Pink Floyd's "The Wall" in the arts hallway and of KISS in the lunchroom, LOL!

Crescent Heights High School

The Enchanted Hotel

A funny thing happened on my way out of Waterton.  I was loathe to leave and made the process as slow as possible. On my way out, I stopped at a picnic bench by the lake and did some writing in my life journals for my daughters Megan & Erin. It was a beautiful place to be reflective and give a hug to some old memories.

Reluctantly packing it in, knowing I should get on the road soon, I left the lake and drove slowly toward the park exit.  Then I remembered I wanted to stop at the Prince of Wales hotel on my way out of the park. I had never been inside before, and wanted to see what it looked like.  I parked, telling myself I would just pop in and look around.  Maybe take a few pictures.

Then I discovered that it was tea time!  They serve a traditional British tea complete with little sandwiches, pastries, cookies and a variety of teas with all the trimming.  You get to enjoy all this while sitting with the perfect view of the lake.  How could I pass that up?  I stayed for tea.  I got strange looks, being there by myself for tea. They were no doubt wishing they were as brave as I. Or feeling pity, sympathy and curiosity.  One of those, I'm sure.  But I am comfortable in my own company, and blissfully ignored them. Grinning like a fool at my own delight in this perfect moment.

The longer I sat in that beautiful, historic hotel, the more I knew that I could not leave yet.  I was enchanted, and had to stay at least one night in this charming place. I texted the girls. They were complete enablers and encouraged me to do it.  I even texted my ex-husband. He also encouraged me to do it. Not that he could have stopped me.  So, deciding that another several hundred dollars didn't matter in the great scheme of things since I technically could not really afford this trip anyway, I made up my mind to splurge once more and stay the night.

I asked at the front desk if they happened to have any rooms available.  I didn't have a reservation, and this was their second busiest week of the year (wildflower festival...no kidding).  As luck would have it, they had two rooms left.  Both on the tippy-top 6th floor.  I was delighted, and whipped out my much abused credit card.

It was then that I discovered that the elevator, an old two person manual lift that required an operator, only went to the 4th floor.  After that, you took a series of ever narrowing and steepening staircases up to the 6th floor. The bellboy and I hauled all my luggage up.  I hadn't packed for just an overnight, so needed it all!

Anyway, once ensconced in my room, I had a little giggle.  I was paying slightly less than I had for my deluxe previous room with the full size jacuzzi bath and air conditioning, with a kitchenette. This room barely had room for the bed and a small antique desk with a narrow space for me to walk between them, and a bathroom, complete with slanting walls, that had the shortest shower I have ever seen!  The plumbing was of course old, but serviceable.  I had a large box fan in case I got hot, one window in the bathroom, and one at the end of my bed (which would later become a source of surprise). The bed and pillows were more comfortable than the one at the newer hotel. There was of course no television or internet, or air conditioning.  I was delighted!  

I excitedly read up on the history of the hotel, which was complicated and a fairy tale of its own.  I was both disappointed and relieved to note that there were no mention of any ghosts, hauntings, or other supernatural occurrences of any kind.

One of the things I was dying to do was to dress up and go sit in the enormous lobby and read my book, watching the guests go by and pretending that I was independently wealthy and never had to leave.  I did this, and was extremely satisfied.  It felt like I thought it would. like a dream come to life, or maybe a pop-up storybook memory that I had stepped into.  It was great!  Then I wandered around the gift shop, picking up little things that suited my fancy.  Always on the lookout for raccoon themed items for Erin, I was disappointed that I didn't find any here, but did buy some nice tea to give away at Christmas time.  Or keep for myself.  I haven't decided yet.  I didn't feel like having a full dinner in the dining room, which was quite expensive, so I opted for a cup of coffee and some gift-store snacks to nibble the night away.  I planned on reading my book and relaxing in my room for the night. 

I took my coffee outside to enjoy the view and take some photos before retiring to my room.  To my delight, I discovered a family of 5 foxes had their den in the green space in front of the hotel.  There was a sign nearby asking guests to respect their space and not approach the den.  These foxes, the mom, dad, and 3 kits, frolicked like they didn't have a care in the world. 

They were not disturbed in the least by all of the people standing and being entertained by their antics.  It was a real treat to have such an intimate peek into their private, carefree world.  I felt just like them.  On my way back inside, I had to stop and let a deer walk by me, lest our paths literally intersect.  I felt like Snow White walking through the forest!  Every minute of my stay was more and more healing, as the serenity of this magical, natural oasis calmed my soul.  A reluctant and truly life changing realization would come to me later.

The Beginning

I guess I should start at the beginning....

We met on Nov. 23, 1984.  I was barely 17, and Mike was 20.  My closest friend at the time had invited me to come to her boyfriend's birthday party, and my future husband was a guest of her boyfriend as well.  Ironically, my friend had tried to fix us up before.  But it was the '80s, the decade of hair bands, and I wasn't at all interested in dating someone in the military who wouldn't have the long, glorious locks of my romantic ideal.

The basement apartment, where the party was held, was across the street from where my grandmother lived, something I took as a sign of serendipity later.  The room was full of army guys, and a little overwhelming for a 17-year old at her first party of this sort.

Our eyes met across the room, where he was sitting on a footstool rolling a joint, and he asked me if he could sit in the empty spot next to me.  I recall him being very sincere and charming.  By the end of the evening, he had sworn he would never lie to me.  Why on earth I believed that, I'll never know.  The naivety of youth, I suppose, and wishful thinking.  But I did.  I'm the kind of person who says what they mean and means what they say, and it never occurred to me that there was any other way of being.

Some of the other guys at the party were unhappy that Mike was monopolizing my company, and they told him it was time for him to go.  Mike had always been outside of this group, a place he often found himself.  He never quite felt like he fit in anywhere.  But anyway, before he was ushered out the door, he asked for my phone number, writing it on a package of matches as he left.

Inexperienced with drinking, being the good Mormon girl that I was, I ended up waayyy too drunk at that party, with no one looking out for me. It was then that I learned three valuable lessons:

1. Don't let other people mix your drinks.

2. Only drink with people you trust.

3. Rye is disgusting going down, and worse coming back up.

I ended up in a compromising position with another of the men attending the party.  I came to in a bedroom with him on top of me while I was throwing up on him.  That messy insistance of the rye coming back up saved me from losing my virginity without my consent that night.  I guess I should be grateful for the rye, really.  I cannot stand the smell of it to this day.

The offender was extremely unhappy about being thrown up on.  It was a result of this commotion that my friend found me, cleaned me up and helped me get home, though that part is a blur to me.  If that had been in the age of todays cell phone cameras and social media, my life would have been over. I would have been one of the unfortunate girls that we see today who's poor judgement at the mercy of unscrupulous fiends costs them dearly with no end.  I'm very grateful that wasn't the case for me.

In any event, Mike did call me.  It must have been the next day, but I don't remember, and can't imagine that I would have been in any shape to hold a conversation.  Perhaps the vigour of youth, and having deposited the contents of my stomach the previous evening on the man who deserved it, gave my body the opportunity for a speedy recovery.

I don't remember how the conversation went, but Mike asked me out and we had our first date the next weekend, Nov. 30th, 1984.  And the rest, was history.

Come Hell or High Water

As I am sitting here on a Saturday night, in my finished basement, watching the documentary Hell or High Water: Rebuilding the Calgary Stampede, which details getting the 101st Calgary Stampede up and running on time in 2013 despite the devastating floods that hit Calgary and the surrounding areas only 2 weeks before, I can't help but reflect on what was going on in my life and my marriage during that time as well.

This is initially prompted by the date that appears on the TV screen as the documentary begins.  An all-black screen features the date in white typefont in the bottom lefthand corner.  June 21, 2013, the first day that the documentary covers, was our 27th Anniversary. Seeing the date so stark and bold on the screen gives my heart a little squeeze.  A slight feeling in my solar plexus of having been gently punched.  As the cameras pan over the devastation of the flood waters, I think back to that day in my life. The debris and dirty water echos the state of my marriage then, though I only know that something is wrong, not what.  I still think that my husband's PTSD is behind his moods and behaviour. I have no idea that he was already in an inappropriate relationship with another woman long before we even left for Cuba just 10 days before, for what was supposed to be a celebration of our anniversary, and an opportunity for us to unwind and reconnect.

June 16, 2013 - Mike & I on a catamaran tour in Cuba

We were fortunate to live in a part of Calgary that was not physically affected by the flooding, so we didn't have to deal with the personal and property losses that so many others in the city found themselves struggling through. We came back from our "anniversary celebration" trip to Cuba just two days before, in the wee hours on June 19th.  I was coping with jet lag and the lingering disappointment of the end of our vacation and opportunity for renewal. I felt as if I had been on vacation with a stranger. By June 20th, we were both back at our jobs.

June 19, 2013 Facebook Post

"So good to be back in YYC! Land of crisp air, reliable washrooms, and Tim Horton's :)"

The home renovations being done by our contractors to finish our basement, among other things, were supposed to be wrapped up by June 22nd, shortly after we returned home. There remained only one major project left undone; a custom window seat in what would be our new, amazing, romantic master bedroom. You know, the one I now sleep in alone. As it turned out, it would be another THREE months before this was finished, being told with every week that it should be finished any day now.  This caused a bottle-neck in being able to put our house back together, and left us continuing to cope with the ongoing stress of a chaotic living environment. The portion of the renovations that my husband, with the assistance of my brother, had been tackling were not yet done (and still are not as of this post).  Throughout the renovation process, Mike had largely refused to take on any responsibilities relating to the renovations, leaving it all to me.  So, I came home to the joyful tasks of wrangling the cabinet maker to finish the project, and negotiating a dispute with the main contractor over the final bill.

Window seat finally completed on Sept. 28, 2013

In addition, I worked for an engineering firm at the time, and we began to be inundated with calls from flooded homeowners and City of Calgary property managers needing structural evaluations of homes and businesses. My work, which had already been too much for one person, was now beginning to spiral completely beyond my control.  While the city, and with it our iconic Stampede grounds, were overrun with water, my life was again overrun with stress. But I was still the cog in the wheel grinding away to keep our lives together, one day at a time. Organizing the renovations, running the house, managing vet appointments for the three cats, medical and psychologist appointments for our two daughters, and massage therapy/acupuncture appointments for myself to help relieve the physical effects of the stress.

That determination and drive to open the Stampede for business no matter what, utilizing community spirit, hard work and, if necessary, sheer force of will, is exactly how I felt about my marriage and my family.  I was confident that no matter what, given just enough time and tremendous effort, teamwork, and a little luck, things would come out alright in the end.  Because you just don't give up.  That is unheard of in our community, and has certainly never been a part of my character.  So I just kept plugging along, certain that all we needed was the strength to see it through, and just a little more time. Doing it the hard way was never a deterrent to me.  Just a greater challenge that you dug down deeper to deal with.  That's part of what marriage means to me.  Loving and supporting each other while working together toward a common goal.  It doesn't matter how messy it gets, life is supposed to be messy.  I was undaunted, and determined to rebuild my marriage.

June 21, 2013 - Edworthy Park, Calgary AB

Successfully getting the 2013 Calgary Stampede up and running, despite all obstacles, gave the city hope that life does go on, and everything was going to be okay. I'm currently doing as they did. Cleaning up the debris of my life, rebuilding and moving onward, come hell or high water.

The Epiphany

About a month ago, I had an epiphany of spiritual growth. It was while I was reading a book, one of many, that was recommended to me by my psychologist. Over the past 4 months, I have read no less than 6 books offering me wisdom on personal and spiritual growth. I feel as though I have taken the accelerated, crash course version of the soul work that I needed to do eventually in this life. That was inevitable, but was prompted by my life unexpectedly burning to the ground. The short version, is that I have been able to reach out in friendship to Mike, and though we are still divorcing and going about living our separate, but parallel lives, we are doing so in joint friendship, being brutally honest with each other about our feelings both then and now. 

I love him, unconditionally.  That is what my heart wants, and what I felt when I learned to just let go.  That doesn't mean I'm not angry and hurt, but I'm able to move past it to a more productive and healing place. I do not want to spend years of my life in bitter regret, and let it poison my future.

Mike has been brave enough to read this blog, to understand how I saw/see things from my perspective. To understand how the consequences of his choices affect others, not just himself. He continues on his own journey of healing, and still sees his PTSD counsellor regularly.

We don't know what the future holds for either of us, but we know that we have almost 30 years of history together, and that wasn't for nothing.

Our friendship has boundaries that we have both agreed on. Complete honesty, no matter how painful, is one of them.  Another was that he can not have both me and Sandy Sinner in his life at the same time.  If he wants a relationship with her, then I would wish them both God's grace, but would not play an active roll in his life.  If he wants my friendship, not just arms-length best wishes, then she has to go. Completely.

I'm happy and relieved to say that he chose my friendship, and yes, I was a little surprised.  So what did he give it all way for? Sigh. It was just meant to be, I guess. I don't let my pride get in my way, I don't feel a need to 'punish' him. It doesn't matter if he 'deserves' to have my friendship or not.  It isn't about him.  It's about me. Besides, living with, and accepting responsibility for, his own choices is going to be hard enough. As it is for us all.

Anyway, we know that this friendship will change and evolve, go through ups and downs just like our marriage did. It may end just like the marriage. But for now, we enter into it willingly, with eyes open.  It is a comfort to me to still have his friendship.  We were good friends, comrads in arms. I'm not sure what happened.

So, I still can't see the future from here, but I have come to learn that it doesn't matter if I do.  The future will come, and I will not only deal with what it brings, I will enjoy it and live my life fully, making good decisions to the best of my ability, and only allowing positive energy in my life.

I hope I find that kind of love again. Be cherished and treasured by someone. But if I don't, it's okay. There are many facets to my life, and many more adventures.  I will embrace them all as they come, with as much grace as God grants me.

The Official Wedding - Part I

I think I have mentioned before that Mike & I were actually married to each other twice.  We had a civil ceremony by a Justice of the Peace, and then a bigger church wedding a few months later. Today is the 28th Anniversary of that church wedding, which to the guests attending was our one and only ceremony, and to the two of us, the priest, and our witnesses, was a renewal of our vows taken earlier on March 1st. Why the priest chose to help us with that charade, I don't know. But he was a good man, and indulged us in our secret.

A lot of good that did!  Saying your vows before God twice still meant absolutely nothing to Mike. No more than if he was pinky-swearing with a friend in kindergarten. Mike was always so regulation oriented, it’s odd to me that he never thought of our marriage as a commitment with rules and responsibilities just like the army. Maybe if I had worn khaki to the ceremonies, and had his Warrant Officer preside instead of a Justice of the Peace and an Anglican priest. We did have the reception in the Junior Ranks, I believe it was called "The Snake Room". Yes, it was just as classy as it sounds, but it was free :).

So as I write this, it is the evening of June 20th, 2014, and I am sitting alone in a hotel room in Waterton National Park, Alberta. We came here twice before as a couple. Both times organized by me to get away and either celebrate our anniversary, or just to spend time alone together.  I have accidentally booked a room in the same hotel as when we were here last. I was trying to do exactly not that, but realized as soon as I pulled up that it was indeed where we stayed last.  At least it's not the same room!

Incidentally, our first trip to Waterton was to celebrate our 21st Anniversary. We stayed at an absolutely charming hotel called the Kilmorey Lodge. It burned down 2 years later and has never been rebuilt.  Omen?

I have slowly been revisiting our old haunts.  Partly to reminisce, and partly to reclaim them for my own. So for this anniversary weekend, I took myself to the mountains, to reflect and relax, and to read the latest and long awaited volume in the series of Outlander novels by Diana Gabaldon.  I'm also going to enjoy a massage, and in general just do whatever moves me.

I have also brought with me the mother's diaries that both of my girls have given me on separate occasions, to fill out with my history and story of my life and who I am. They are so sweet to care! Imagine, my kids wanting to know who I am and everything about me! I must have done something right along the way. Now, they are both well aware of my tendency to procrastinate, and have been very patient. Erin gave me her book back in Christmas of 2007 (oh my word time flies, sorry Erin!), and Megan gave me hers a few months ago, so I technically still have another 7 years for hers ;).

I have been periodically working on the one from Erin, and actually intended to finish it and give it back to her this last Christmas.  Well, and then all hell broke loose, and finishing it was just too painful. So, this weekend, I want to at least work on both of them, if not finish them. They'll be so surprised! So will I!

But anyway, back to the wedding.

Mike's parents weren't keen on us getting married at all; thought we were too young (they may have been on to something), and they definitely weren't crazy about the idea of a reception. They wanted a quiet wedding and then dinner out somewhere with just the family.  We were already secretly married, so we could easily have confessed and taken everyone to dinner to celebrate (Would they be in celebratory moods? Not likely.) But well, it's every little girls' dream to wear a beautiful wedding gown and walk down the aisle, and I was (am) the only girl in my family, and I didn't want to deprive my parents of their only daughter's wedding, white dress, church & all. So church wedding and reception it was. Mike's parents were relieved to know that I would agree to be married in the Anglican Church, and not force everyone into a Mormon church, where they may have all spontaneously combusted and/or died from alcohol withdrawal.

Let the circus begin! Mike's Dad (Roy) strongly hinted that my soon-to-be mother-in-law, (Kathy), was very good at organizing things, and was an excellent seamstress. He was absolutely correct about both of those things. She also didn't like me very much. So, the young bride-to-be, anxious to please everyone, especially if they had the suffix of 'in-law' behind their family title, dutifully asked her to please make my wedding dress and bridesmaids dresses, and to help me organize the wedding. This was one of many times in my life I would come to regret not knowing my own power. Or maybe I knew my power but gave it away on purpose in the name of diplomacy? How self-sacrificing of me.

Segue - Why did I lose/give away/forget my power? I had, from a young age, always accepted that I was stronger than those around me thought I was. Fought through my entire childhood, and left home at 17.  I was strong and brave all my life. What the hell happened when I got engaged? Hmm, I will have to explore that more. That will be another post.

Roy and Kathy kindly offered to also pay for the invitations. Kathy took me to the printer she had selected, and gave me a choice of several she had pre-chosen according to their budget. I chose the one that most closely went with the wedding colours we had chosen, which were aquamarine and pink. Glaulgh (that's a gagging noise) why such horrible colours? My only explanation is that it was the 80's. That explanation covers a lot, actually. So the invitation was kind of a teal-ish blue with a rose on it, which was close enough. I already just wanted this wedding over with.

As it would turn out, the text in the invitation had a spelling error, and the entire order had to be reprinted, at the cost of the printer. My father-in-law insisted. The grievous spelling mistake? Beleive instead of Believe.

Well, ha ha, I thought I could get the whole history of my wedding into one blog post. Oh my, how quickly I have forgotten that long, fascinating (for how many things can actually go wrong in one wedding), and educational process!  Let's just say that I should qualify for a career in high-stakes mediation at the U.N.

This is going to take much more than one post. So, as it is now after 1:00 A.M., and I am anxious to start my new book and get a good nights sleep before my massage tomorrow, I will leave it here for now. Will the flower girl get lost in the hotel? Will the wedding cars be hijacked by the groomsmen?  Will the in-laws be left behind at the photography site? Who knows what could be revealed next?!

Stay tuned for more of the exciting adventures of Tammy strives to plan her wedding with/in-spite-of her in-laws, fiancé, mother and grandmother.  Same bat time, same bat place. I'll even add photos!

Happy 28th Double-Fake Anniversary to Me!

And fuck my husband and the mistress he rode in on.