As with all great loves, this one seemed to arrive unbidden. Yet on August 13th of this year, I’ll celebrate the one year anniversary of a relationship from which I’ve chosen not to escape. The days leading up to our big ceremony were a little frantic. There were sheaves of paper, long lists, lots of nervous phone calls. It was not my first trip down this path. Memories of those past experiences seemed to thwart my ability to make the simplest choices. What colors? What time? I just couldn’t decide without rethinking it a hundred times. In spite of my doubts, I proceeded.

When I woke up on that auspicious morning I felt like some caring friend had sent me a package of weather straight from heaven. I kept checking the horizon to make sure I wasn’t just imagining that blue and cloudless sky. We had scheduled a 10 AM ceremony and I was oddly punctual. But then, I’d long since decided that I really wanted this. For months I’d dreamed of it and planned. Supportive callers helped me through the final preparations – my mom saw no reason to turn back, a colleague assured me I was doing the right thing. My partner in this thing was sure too -- so I stayed the course.

He was sure, yeah, but he was also late. Even with him coasting twenty minutes behind, we got the business over with by 11. The house he no longer loved officially became mine. Our plans to celebrate the transaction with champagne and cake were scuttled by unforeseen work crises, but this did not disturb my happiness. I was ready to go back to Pennsyl Pointe and get things running.

I knew there’d be no real honeymoon. The house had more flaws than charms. But the rotting rugs and frayed drapes could not hide its beauty from me. Even now, one full year later, I remain bewitched. I am, however, proud to announce that I have renegotiated the original 30 year marriage (at 7.25%) down to a 20 year tryst closer to prime.