It’s our 20-year anniversary. We are in Houston, the same town we were in 20 years ago today getting married in St. Paul's Cathedral. And we still love each other. Thaaaaaaat’s nice.
I knew we would be at MD Anderson today, so Debra got her anniversary gift on this past Christmas morning. When we got engaged more than twenty years ago in France, I had purchased a ring using student loan dollars from my good friend Slick Willy, a.k.a Bill Clinton. Needless to say it was a poor student ring, and therefore somewhat smaller than what I have been able to purchase using the old man dollars I have these days. Regardless, here’s how the start of this whole affair went down.
In 1993, I purchased the student-style diamond in Dallas prior to going to France where I studied for a year as a graduate student. The jeweler was working on it when I left so I had to strategize for how to get it to France without sending it through the mail. Turns out, Debra was coming to visit me. I needed bike parts. And thus my plan was devised.
Debra showed up in France with a lovely smile, several bags and a small box of bike parts that my brother had packaged up for me. She unpacked her bags and threw the tightly taped bike parts box to me, “Here’re the pedals your brother wanted me to carry over here.” Her attitude clearly conveyed that she had no idea she was in fact a mule for the Dallas Diamond. Life proceeded from there in a beautiful, relaxed French sort of way. I studied during the days while Debra tarried about the cafes in the small town of Dijon, France. The weeks passed… Debra grew a little impatient with me. She thought she flew over the Atlantic to get engaged after all.
Meanwhile I had been strategizing. I had befriended an odd little Englishman living in France named Peter Dunn. His hair was the perfect salt and pepper chia pet. He was slightly built with worn out felt shoes, a tattered jacket and fine facial features. He taught French Business to the French graduate students at the school, and he was married to a French woman. But most important, he was a wine connoisseur with a penchant for those from the south of France, and he needed someone to go south and get him some more of his favorites. I volunteered to go over the holidays.
Debra and I rented a car and set out south to Provence. I don’t recall all the vineyards we visited but I do recall that we ended up in Collioure, a small town along the Mediterranean Sea right where France and Spain join one another. We stayed there in a water-front castle with an ancient sea wall about 200 yards off shore. The end of the sea wall was a small light house to mark safe passage into the harbor. The waves on the far side of the wall showed only their foaming spray as they smashed into its lighted face.
The meal that night was second to none. I still recall the table, the view and the foie gras. After dinner, I had purchased a dozen tulips which the waiter brought us beside the sea in a champagne chiller with a perfectly chilled bottle of Veuve Cliquot, our favorite champagne with its distinctive orange label. We popped the bottle on the cobblestone quai and the cork arced through the air, perfectly up against the night sky, perfectly down, and perfectly into my cold hands.
But we needed glasses. And we needed candlelight. I was wearing my Carhartt jacket – it’s a peculiar garment in some ways, but it’s my absolute favorite article even to this day. In its pockets I had stashed a candle and two champagne flutes. I produced these in turn and poured our glasses with bubbling, liquid gold.
Debra claims she had no idea what I was up to – still – even at that point with all the romance I was executing perfectly. It was not until I produced the little ring from yet another pocket, got down on a knee, held it out and asked her what we should toast to that she comprehended and fully appreciated the moment. Of course she said yes. Honestly I do not believe the evening could have gone more perfectly. The moon and her heavenly sisters were definitely smiling on us that night.
Somewhere I still have that Veuve Cliquot cork with the date written on it. And as for the Dallas Diamond, I know exactly where it has been up until this past Christmas morning: on Debra’s ring finger.
Her anniversary gift this year was an upgrade to the Dallas Diamond. She has said thank you a thousand times, but a much better thank you is when I catch her looking at her hand pulled up with fingers extended, head tilted left, drinking in my gift and all it means to both of us.
Long may we run….
I knew we would be at MD Anderson today, so Debra got her anniversary gift on this past Christmas morning. When we got engaged more than twenty years ago in France, I had purchased a ring using student loan dollars from my good friend Slick Willy, a.k.a Bill Clinton. Needless to say it was a poor student ring, and therefore somewhat smaller than what I have been able to purchase using the old man dollars I have these days. Regardless, here’s how the start of this whole affair went down.
In 1993, I purchased the student-style diamond in Dallas prior to going to France where I studied for a year as a graduate student. The jeweler was working on it when I left so I had to strategize for how to get it to France without sending it through the mail. Turns out, Debra was coming to visit me. I needed bike parts. And thus my plan was devised.
Debra showed up in France with a lovely smile, several bags and a small box of bike parts that my brother had packaged up for me. She unpacked her bags and threw the tightly taped bike parts box to me, “Here’re the pedals your brother wanted me to carry over here.” Her attitude clearly conveyed that she had no idea she was in fact a mule for the Dallas Diamond. Life proceeded from there in a beautiful, relaxed French sort of way. I studied during the days while Debra tarried about the cafes in the small town of Dijon, France. The weeks passed… Debra grew a little impatient with me. She thought she flew over the Atlantic to get engaged after all.
Meanwhile I had been strategizing. I had befriended an odd little Englishman living in France named Peter Dunn. His hair was the perfect salt and pepper chia pet. He was slightly built with worn out felt shoes, a tattered jacket and fine facial features. He taught French Business to the French graduate students at the school, and he was married to a French woman. But most important, he was a wine connoisseur with a penchant for those from the south of France, and he needed someone to go south and get him some more of his favorites. I volunteered to go over the holidays.
Debra and I rented a car and set out south to Provence. I don’t recall all the vineyards we visited but I do recall that we ended up in Collioure, a small town along the Mediterranean Sea right where France and Spain join one another. We stayed there in a water-front castle with an ancient sea wall about 200 yards off shore. The end of the sea wall was a small light house to mark safe passage into the harbor. The waves on the far side of the wall showed only their foaming spray as they smashed into its lighted face.
The meal that night was second to none. I still recall the table, the view and the foie gras. After dinner, I had purchased a dozen tulips which the waiter brought us beside the sea in a champagne chiller with a perfectly chilled bottle of Veuve Cliquot, our favorite champagne with its distinctive orange label. We popped the bottle on the cobblestone quai and the cork arced through the air, perfectly up against the night sky, perfectly down, and perfectly into my cold hands.
But we needed glasses. And we needed candlelight. I was wearing my Carhartt jacket – it’s a peculiar garment in some ways, but it’s my absolute favorite article even to this day. In its pockets I had stashed a candle and two champagne flutes. I produced these in turn and poured our glasses with bubbling, liquid gold.
Debra claims she had no idea what I was up to – still – even at that point with all the romance I was executing perfectly. It was not until I produced the little ring from yet another pocket, got down on a knee, held it out and asked her what we should toast to that she comprehended and fully appreciated the moment. Of course she said yes. Honestly I do not believe the evening could have gone more perfectly. The moon and her heavenly sisters were definitely smiling on us that night.
Somewhere I still have that Veuve Cliquot cork with the date written on it. And as for the Dallas Diamond, I know exactly where it has been up until this past Christmas morning: on Debra’s ring finger.
Her anniversary gift this year was an upgrade to the Dallas Diamond. She has said thank you a thousand times, but a much better thank you is when I catch her looking at her hand pulled up with fingers extended, head tilted left, drinking in my gift and all it means to both of us.
Long may we run….
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