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When Andy and I walked down the aisle, "Seasons of Love" was meant to be our theme. It wasn't, unfortunately: the church didn't consider it "sacred music" despite my light-hearted attempts to argue otherwise. It is still the opening number on our wedding mixtape. (Our recessional was Beethoven's Ode to Joy.)
Now that it's our first wedding anniversary, the sheer aptness of having "Seasons of Love" as one of our wedding songs strikes me all over again.
Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty five thousand moments so dear
Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets,
In midnights, in cups of coffee?
In inches, in miles,
In laughter, in strife?
This year has been measured in 9:00 AM mornings, waking up to find Andy already out of bed and hanging out in the den in an attempt to keep the cats from tumbling around on the bed and waking me. Most mornings, I would then seize his Mr. T voicebox keychain and summon him back for cuddling with the dulcet tones of Mr. T growling "DON'T MAKE ME MAD! GRRR!" or "DON'T GIVE ME NO BACKTALK, SUCKA! Quit yo jibba jabba!"
This year has been measured in phone calls while the sun set over the I-75, telling Andy about my classes as five o'clock traffic kept me crawling home at a snail's pace. It's been measured in midnights of good cheer, flush with the inebriating effects of whiskey or vodka, and in exhausted midnights of academic stress and harsh self-judgements. It's been measured in Saturday night glasses of Irish coffee and cups of joe awaiting me when I finally made it home from university.
This year has been measured in the miles between Montgmery and Atlanta, in the miles between university and home, in the miles between Kennesaw and Roswell. It has been measured in the inches between our sleeping bodies, a measure of distance that shrinks and widens with every turn and snuggle.
These five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes have been filled to the brim with laughter, for Andy can always make me laugh. Even when I'm most determined to be otherwise; perhaps most often then.
I won't belabor my point, especially since I'm sure most of you are familiar with the song. (If you're not, do give it a listen at the link above!) I'll just close with the song's exhortation that's closest to my heart during this annual reflection:
It's time now, to sing out,
Though the story never ends.
Let's celebrate, remember a year,
In the life of friends.
Remember the love!
( P.S. On the topic of thoughtful gifts... )
Now that it's our first wedding anniversary, the sheer aptness of having "Seasons of Love" as one of our wedding songs strikes me all over again.
Five hundred twenty five thousand moments so dear
Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets,
In midnights, in cups of coffee?
In inches, in miles,
In laughter, in strife?
This year has been measured in 9:00 AM mornings, waking up to find Andy already out of bed and hanging out in the den in an attempt to keep the cats from tumbling around on the bed and waking me. Most mornings, I would then seize his Mr. T voicebox keychain and summon him back for cuddling with the dulcet tones of Mr. T growling "DON'T MAKE ME MAD! GRRR!" or "DON'T GIVE ME NO BACKTALK, SUCKA! Quit yo jibba jabba!"
This year has been measured in phone calls while the sun set over the I-75, telling Andy about my classes as five o'clock traffic kept me crawling home at a snail's pace. It's been measured in midnights of good cheer, flush with the inebriating effects of whiskey or vodka, and in exhausted midnights of academic stress and harsh self-judgements. It's been measured in Saturday night glasses of Irish coffee and cups of joe awaiting me when I finally made it home from university.
This year has been measured in the miles between Montgmery and Atlanta, in the miles between university and home, in the miles between Kennesaw and Roswell. It has been measured in the inches between our sleeping bodies, a measure of distance that shrinks and widens with every turn and snuggle.
These five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes have been filled to the brim with laughter, for Andy can always make me laugh. Even when I'm most determined to be otherwise; perhaps most often then.
I won't belabor my point, especially since I'm sure most of you are familiar with the song. (If you're not, do give it a listen at the link above!) I'll just close with the song's exhortation that's closest to my heart during this annual reflection:
Though the story never ends.
Let's celebrate, remember a year,
In the life of friends.
Remember the love!
( P.S. On the topic of thoughtful gifts... )
