Pop the bubbly. Today is Mark and Susan's sixth anniversary.
OMG. Today is MAJOR.
November 1, 2009, marks our sixth anniversary of wedded bliss.
Yes, six years ago today my beloved and I said our vows that we would be one for now and always through the good times and the bad. (Translation: Phillies’ wins and Phillies’ losses.)
I’m just shocked that Mark agreed to our wedding date considering it’s always right smack in the middle of post season. Of course, six years ago the Phillies were lucky if they entered September over .500. So, I guess I was a fool.
A fool for love.
Because, now dear readers, my wedding anniversary revolves around baseball games and baseball tickets and baseball parades and baseball commentary and baseball TV programs and baseball scheduling and baseball rain delays.
How the hell did I end up here?
Anyway, my insomniac self tossed and turned last night, unable to adjust to Daylight Savings and worrying that my angered and soaking wet Phillie Phanatic husband was driving like a maniac in the pouring rain at 2:30 in the morning on the way home from a dismal World Series Game 3 in which Cole Hamels was a disaster and the Phillies’ bats went silent. Not to mention it’s Halloween night when drunken fools are most definitely out on the roads and what if the Yankees fans take him hostage or what if there are riots over Cole Hamels being so diva….or, God maybe I should write fiction. So, as these thoughts are going on, I get to thinking happier thoughts such as our many years together and my many cooking mishaps.
My cooking dilemmas always make me laugh. Mark’s reaction to my culinary tomfoolery really makes me laugh.
Don’t worry, my successes greatly outnumber the flops. Natch.
Mark and I met more than 10 years ago.
Straight out of college, I finally got my first “real” newspaper job at The Daily Journal in Vineland as a copy editor. I was pretty much in charge of the obits for two months. Glamorous, I know.
Around that time, Mark was hired as a reporter. His beat was the Board of Education. Again, more glamour and intrigue.
Mark decided to take a chance on a spazzy girl from Hammonton who wears a ton of jewelry, obsesses about crazy shoes, chews a lot of gum, plays a ton of Chopin and maybe curses and laughs way too much. His polo and loafer wearing, soft-spoken calm Clark Kent self just couldn’t get on without me. So, he asked me on a date.
When he came to the door, my mom told me I would marry him. My mom has majorly psychic abilities.
After three first dates over the span of two years (Look, I was a head case, drama queen, stupid 20-something), Mark totally popped the question.
During our days of courtship, I took matters into my own hands and realized I needed to woo my future husband-to-be with amazing feats of the culinary kind because as Poppop Sacco always advised me: “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” My Poppop and Mommom have been married for 66 years, so I guess he knows what he’s talking about.
I bestowed upon him – and the rest of the newsroom hangers-on – a bundle of cakes, cookies, pepperoni bread and other baked goods.
In no time, Mark was entranced by my cookery, wit and bewitching good looks.
Of course with the hits have come plenty of misses – before and after the vows.
I’m sure my loving husband has tried to forget the shrimp scampi – with the shrimp shells still on.
Or, my strawberry pie that was more like a soup.
Or, the pork roast that resembled abstract road kill. (As if I knew that you cut the cooking twine AFTER you cook the roast.)
And then there is the shrimp and fennel incident of 2004. Thinking I would WOW the hubs with a fabulous Lidia Bastianich recipe, I ended up completely clogging the garbage disposal since I had to throw out an entire pound of uneaten pasta that my husband still will not admit that he hated five years after the fact. That was an AWESOME night.
He’s sensitive that husband. He doesn’t want to wound my soul.
Of course my motto in all of life – especially with music and cooking – is that we learn from our mistakes.
So, I have no worries about my kitchen mishaps. I just jump up and try again.
And I’m truly appreciative of the nights I get to hang with Mark and we have dinner together. It’s just the best. There’s no other place I want to be. And usually when we’re there in the moment, I’ll say to my husband, “OMG. I don’t want it to be over.”
And he’ll say, “Would you just relax, doll. You’re going to wish it away.”
I say these words whether we’re at some fancy pants restaurant in Philadelphia or a bistro in Paris or right in my little, six-year-old kitchen. And I know he’s right so I try to just chill.
It’s silly, isn’t it? Of all the amazing things we do together, one of my favorites is just sharing the food I make for Mark and the wine that he picks out. Because he’s the sommelier of this relationship. I'm clearly the brains and the beauty.
For reals, the only way I know how to show Mark how much I love him more than anything in the entire universe is with my food and my words and my kisses.
And ironing his damn shirts.
So happy anniversary, Mark!!! Please come home soon so that we can eat dinner and watch the Phillies!
Smooches and much love,