Happy Anniversary To Us

The Mr. and I went away over night for our twentieth anniversary. After a year of talking about different romantic destinations where we might spend a week just being together we settled on a humble night away in a little town called Marshall, MI about an hour from home. It’s where we went last year for our anniversary too. Maybe it’s a tradition in the making?
Anyway, in 2005 we stayed at a beautiful bed & breakfast in a town about 20 minutes from Marshall called Albion. The house we stayed in was magnificent. The former home of the president of Albion College; it was perfection. Restored with mellow wooden floors and impeccable decor. Attention had been paid to the finest detail. Our room was a suite that the Mr. booked for a “romantic getaway”. A huge antique iron bed sat high outfitted with Egyptian cotton sheets. A three-sided fireplace divided the room from the jacuzzi and bath. Tiny white lights were inset around the parameter of the ceiling for a soft glow.
Upon our arrival our hosts showed us to the second floor up the sweeping staircase to a sitting room overlooking the main street and college. It was complete with a soft and inviting love seat and a wall of books just begging for my attention. A nook to the side had an electric teapot with herbal teas; nuts and dried apricots for snacking and a mini fridge with soda and bottled water or juice.
Our room had been prepared for us with a dozen roses on the side board and a beautiful presentation of chocolates and crackers.
We went to dinner in Marshall at Georgeo’s, where reservations had been made as part of our package. The host, Butch (his name was the only butch thing about him) was waiting for us like long lost family. A fat bouquet of fall flowers adorned our table for two. The chef, Tony, came out to greet and congratulate us on our nineteen years together. Tony and Butch described the meal they had planned. Prime rib. Home made bread. A dessert sample platter. Butch regaled us between courses about his travels with an elderly aunt and his beloved schnauzer, Winston.
After our candlelight dinner we strolled downtown holding hands before returning to our lovely suite where homemade chocolate chip cookies and hot cocoa in antique cups waited to lull us to sleep.
The next morning we enjoyed massages and a gourmet breakfast.
Mmmm. The memories of a perfect weekend.
This year we decided to stay right in downtown Marshall. The National House Inn. The oldest inn in the world, or something like that. I went online and chose a sunny second floor room with a fireplace and claw foot bathtub. Another romantic weekend in the making.
We arrived in town about 5:00 on Friday evening and pulled up to the old inn. Creaky wooden floors, exposed beams and a giant rustic fireplace in the lobby. I’m loving it already! It even smelled like my farm!
We pay and Katie leads us to our room. Not up the stairs? Hm. No, around a corner and down a narrow passage.
Through a narrow door, “The Ketchum Suite”. Ok.
Into the gray and clearly haunted dark Victorian room I had not chosen.
Katie smiled as she showed us the attached sitting room complete with giant scarey pictures of angry puritans.
Then Katie was gone.
And I started laughing.
“This is really terrible!” said I.
The Mr. just stares with kind of a deer in the headlights look.
“Isn’t this what you chose?”
“No!” laughing.
“Hmm.” a little offended is the Mr. now. But he has plans for this weekend and is trying hard not to mess up his main goal of the evening.
We went to Schuller’s for dinner where we consumed large amounts of cheese and I gave him the run-down on what the room I wanted looked like and why I wouldn’t relax anyway because the laundry wasn’t done at home.
He continues to smile and hope for the best.
Back to the haunted room where I take lots of pictures which I’ll examine later for ghosts.
Into bed at 7:00 and at 7:10 I start complaining that I’m freezing and I wonder if it’s the wind howling through the 200 year-old walls or the presence of innkeepers gone by that’s chilling my bones.
The Mr. continues to smile and hope.
7:20 I’m sound asleep.
Next morning it’s up and at ‘em for breakfast which was completely wonderful and which I thoroughly enjoyed.
Walked downtown Marshall in a Michigan autumn drizzle. Got some coffee to warm us up. I asked him if he heard Ichabod Crane pacing the floors all night.
He just smiles.
For lunch I’m getting cranky and don’t know where I want to eat but I know I don’t want to go where he wants. The Downtown Grille.
We go there anyway because I can’t make a good argument and I know I’m a snot.
We order and the Mr. reaches into his pocket and pulls out a jewelry box.
And hands it to me.
“Honey! I told you not to buy me a gift! I don’t have anything for you!”
“I know, but I had to get you something. For goodness sake, it’s our 20th anniversary and I love you.”
I open the box and nestled inside is a ring.
A beautiful channel setting in white gold with yellow gold accents.
A gorgeous ring I would’ve chosen myself if I’d gone with him shopping.
A ring in fact I did choose last year when he bought it for me the first time!
Ha!
“Oh my gosh! You know, I saw this ring and I thought you’d like it. Did I really buy you that?”
“Yes sweetie you did, and I love it.”
“Well, we’ll just take it back and get you something else. I am so stupid.
“I’m keeping it. I love it.”
Laughing and crying and holding hands in the Downtown Grille I told him that he is indeed stupid but I love him anyway.
He bought me a half carat solitaire in 1985 which I lost ten years later building a club house for daboyz with the Mr.
He bought me a gold band in 1986 which I couldn’t wear after gaining a hundred pounds. He bought me another one that fit in 1999 which I wore without a diamond.
I lost a hundred pounds and he bought me a channel set band in white gold with yellow gold accents for our nineteenth wedding anniversary.
He bought me another one for our twentieth.
I’m going to solder them together and wear both. They sparkle really pretty together and someday, maybe they can be separated and each of daboyz can give them to their wives when they book the wrong room for their twentieth anniversaries.
Maybe they’ll laugh and tease and be snotty and forgive and laugh some more.
I hope they eat too much cheese and take a walk in the rain and stop for lunch where Jay or Mac can slip one of his mom’s two identical rings on the finger of the love of his life.
It’s really not as silly as it sounds this laughing your way through the years.