10th Anniversary

 

Ten years ago today, I put on my black leather coat and caught the bus to the Starbucks at the Geneva train station. I was about to meet my future husband, although I didn't know it. 

On the bus I wondered if he would think I'd grown old and had he? Would I even recognize him?

The day before, I'd received a LinkedIn message: "I'm in Geneva. Do you want to have coffee? Rick Adams."

We had met in the late 70s at a Missouri credit union conference. Between sessions we managed to go horse back riding and to the pool. When the conference was over, a storm had made getting back to St. Louis for our flights almost impossible. We rented a four-seater airplane.

It had been a coup de foudre for me that I shoved aside. We each had our own lives.

Every now and then we'd talk on the telephone. When he came to Boston on business, I'd show him the highlights of my beloved city. We ate at Piaf's and saw a stage play with Lauren Bacall.

In the late 80s when I was about to move to Switzerland, I called him to let him know. There had been no contact between us since then. 

In Starbucks, I recognized him from the back. Just as I was about to tap him the shoulder, I thought, what if I'm wrong. I wasn't.

I gave him a copy of Murder in Argelès, and he gave me a miniature simulator.

I took him to the Café du Soleil which I reserved for special-special clients and good, good friends. I hoped he would be impressed with my French. He couldn't know how bad my accent was. As we dipped our bread into the melting cheese we did as much catching up as possible. I needed to make the last bus home.

That's that, I thought again. No it wasn't. Email made it easy to communicate. I invited him to Argelès.

"How will your friends know about us?" he asked.

"When I hold your hand," I said. In a small village nothing gets unobserved. If the hand-holding hadn't done it, our close dancing at a street dance did. Friends were shocked. I was at a stage in my life, where I considered a date an inconvenience.

"I'm moving to Europe, " he told me. 

Several of my friends and my daughter warned him if he threatened my independence, he'd be history. My daughter added, "And she'll steal your socks." My friend Barbara moved on from her doubts.

We held a commitment/hand fasting ceremony ceremony attended by friends from seven countries. It was a week long party. 

My studio was too small for the times we were in France. We rented a two-bedroom ground floor: The Nest and The Warren. We settled in going between Geneva and Argelès and developed the habits and rituals of a couple.

We had stuffed animals that we put through various presentations. We wrote. We rushed outside to see sunsets over Canigou and took champagne and croissants to the beach for sunrise. We wrote. We lived temporarily in Westport, Ireland and Edinburgh, Scotland and traveled many places for work and pleasure. We wrote.

Rick accomplished a life-long goal--play St. Andrews. We wrote.

We also loved being home. Sipping tea in bed in the morning and sharing bits and pieces of what we were reading.

We dealt with the problems of getting Rick living permission and if we did marry how could we be fair to both our daughters with the inheritance laws in France and Switzerland. Despite being anti-marriage, I proposed although not on my knees. This ceremony was at the Mairie in Corsier. Unlike the earlier ceremony my housemate and her son were the only attendees. She had planned a surprised reception for us.

Our lives were reduced to our studio in Collonge-Bellerive when I had a second bout of breast cancer. I learned there are times it is okay to be dependent. If anything, it brought us closer. The chemo nurses asked if he could give good-husband lessons. 

When we applied for our marriage license we had to decide not only our married last names but the name of our future children. Considering we were senior citizens, children were not realistic, but it came in handy when we added a four kilo, four pawed ball of fluff. Sherlock Adams-Nelson became our baby.

Because we can laugh at ourselves, we accept each other's idiosyncrasies. We try to help each other not just in writing but doing things we want to. That expands both of our horizons. Without Rick, I would never have gone to St. Andrews, and he probably would never have visited the tomb of Eleanor of Aquitaine without me. If one of us wants something, the other does everything possible to make it happen. 

I think back to our commitment/hand fasting ceremony. We had written our vows. I started with "I cannot give you my heart, you already have it." He still does.