And so I tell you the story today, on the one-year anniversary of that fuzzily-remembered night.
In the year or so leading up to our 10-year wedding anniversary, before I threw my hands up in disgust and yelled something like "Fine! If we're going to do anything for our anniversary, you're going to plan all of it! AND IT BETTER BE GOOD," I had verbally mused at length all about my daydreams about renewing our vows, hopefully while wearing an outfit that included the skirt that used to be part of my simple, homemade wedding dress, and that I hoped we would get a replacement ring for him (since he lost his around year five) and a complementary diamond engagement ring for me (since what we could afford when we were 21 years old and dumb, stupid, and in love was a small band embedded with tiny diamonds - pretty, but not something that said "Hi! I'm married/engaged! No, really, look, it's a diamond!").
Well, our 10-year anniversary on May 20th, 2010 came and went, and it turned out to be a lovely weekend, but the vow renewal ceremony that I had hoped for (such as one done while skydiving, or perhaps officiated by an actor or friend in a Starfleet Uniform, or in a totally cheesy Elvis-impersonator style in Las Vegas) hadn't happened, and new rings had not been purchased. But fast-forward a few months, and rings eventually were selected and purchased. That is a long and boring and rather frustrating story, so I won't go into it. Holy moly, the cost of diamonds and white gold has gone way up since we were in college.
Fast-forward a couple more months, and ultimately, what happened was this: We did something really special, and - though it makes my stomach turn a little when I say it - romantic. One night, after Bryce made dinner (some wonderful spaghetti and brussels sprouts) and we watched the season premiere of House that we had missed on the previous Monday, we went out walking late at night, through Washington Square, and meandering around Society Hill (note to those not familiar with Philadelphia: these are lovely areas in the blocks surrounding our apartment), stopping in dimly-lit courtyards and little parks to dance to Argentine tango music coming from my iPhone in Bryce's shirt pocket. It was totally cheesy, and - gag, here it comes again - romantic. Then we made our way back up to Washington Square Park, where we paid our respects to the unknown soldier (there is a tomb of an unknown Revolutionary War soldier there, a place that is rather special to me, and where I have sentimentally told Bryce I want my ashes scattered if I die before he does). And then, in front of him (Mr. unknown soldier) and George Washington (a statue of the dude, standing behind the soldier's raised concrete coffin), in the magical stillness of that night and in the dancing shadows and light of the flame (an eternal frame burns in front of the soldier's coffin), we renewed our vows with kind words and loving compliments and funny reminiscences, and we exchanged our new rings. I don't remember all that we said, and we'll never be able to remember it because there is no record, but I know one thing I said was this: "I still choose you, Bryce, for husband. I still want to laugh with you for the rest of my life." I had said those things to him about 10 1/3 years earlier, just without the word "still." Then we danced to Ben Folds' song "The Luckiest" (which didn't exist when we were married, but which means much more to us than our selected "first dance" song), cried a bit (this had started intermittently earlier, but it reached its peak by this point), paid our respects to the soldier again and bade goodnight George, and made our way down to Eulogy (a Belgian pub, one of our favorite restaurants/bars)for beer and fries.
This all happened months later than I had wished, but it felt so right, and so magical, and so "us." We truly did it our way. One thing I have always been proud of in our relationship is that we are so adaptable and resilient, and we do things our own way. We appreciate some traditions, but we don't see them as laws. Get married when we're 21 even though most of our family just assumes it means we're pregnant? Sure, why not? Still live in the dorms our senior year, treating our room at Harvey Mudd like our bedroom and office and my room at Scripps like my design studio and kitchen? Sounds like a great adventure. Get a very belated diamond engagement ring for our 10-year anniversary and renew our vows in an impromptu, made-up-on-the-spot ceremony with no witnesses in front of a tomb of an unknown soldier? This is the stuff of dreams, the kind of thing that screenwriters wish they could imagine for their movies. We are constantly reinventing how "us" works and adapting our still-imperfect-but-constantly-evolving relationship to weather whatever comes along, whatever changes we or outside factors bring to it.
And my new diamond engagement ring (though it is now a year old, it still feels new to me) is really sparkly. I like it. Heck, I had ten years to think about the design, didn't I? Word to the wise and thrifty: A "halo" setting can make a tiny rock look much bigger than its actual size, giving you more bang for your buck. And it can be mounted in a low-profile way that keeps it from getting stuck on costumes or other projects that require working with your hands.
An awkward, blurry shot I just took of our rings. My hands are obviously not in wedding manicure form. Please ignore the dirt beneath my fingernails. Marriage is kinda like that. It's imperfect and rather grimy a lot of the time. But when you can make it work, it's so worth it.
