It was thirty-five years ago today that we—my wife and I—got married. A small group, consisting of a few members of my family and some friends, gathered in her condo, where a Unitarian minister performed a secular marriage ceremony.
The short ceremony included my favorite Shakespeare sonnet:
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixèd mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Here’s to another thirty-five years, my love!
