Celebrating a crazy and wonderful 10 years

We met 17 years ago, when both of our hearts were broken. He was grieving the woman he thought might finally be the one, who had abruptly broken up with him after a months-long but intense romance. I was grieving the year-old death of my husband, who had died after a months-long but intense battle with pancreatic cancer. I wasn’t looking for a hot romance, just someone to see a movie with now and then, or maybe give me a hug occasionally. He was looking for – well, I won’t put words in his mouth. I answered his personal ad in The Boston Globe – which said he was single and 48, loved Cajun music (whatever that was), had a place in Maine (I loved Maine) and was self-employed. He sounded kind of interesting. I called the recorded message associated with the ad and heard his voice, which elaborated on his written words and included a phone number. It also included the intriguing line that he liked “unconventional travel.” I thought he sounded kind of scattered. His phone number also had an area code suggesting he lived on Cape Cod, a good two-hour drive from my New Hampshire condo. I hung up. But unconventional travel? I love to travel, especially unconventionally. I called back and left my number. We spoke on the phone several times over the course of, maybe, a month, and finally met for dinner at a restaurant on Route 128 in Woburn, Mass. No bells went off. No whistles sounded. He was kind of scattered, but also an incredibly sweet, sincere man. I thought we might become good friends. So… let’s flash forward. We married seven years later, on the same island in Maine that had been dear to both of us even before we met and on Friday, the 21st, we celebrated 10 years of marriage at a restaurant on that very island. In the meantime, we had traveled to Mexico, St. Croix, remote portions of the American Southwest, the Maritimes, Quebec City, the Pacific Northwest, Tennessee and Georgia and several other places, most of the time in a tent. I cherish the times we have sat someplace (like on the lowered tailgate of a rented SUV, in the pouring rain, in an empty campground in the mountains of northern New Mexico), clinked our plastic wine glasses together, laughed and repeated the phrase, “unconventional travel!” The thing is, we did become good friends. And so much more. I really do love that man.