I have the same bemused, unconcerned feeling about having been married for 18 years that I have about being 45 -- these numbers are just kind of out there, counting down something, but sort of unimportant or meaningless in a way. Is 18 years a long time? A drop in the bucket? I remember so much about that day, making it seem not that long ago. We have a lot of fun, Ken and I, and adding Dean to our party gives half of those years a different kind of significance. Over the years we lost my dad and his second wife (not my mom) to cancer; friends at our wedding have since married and divorced. Some people who were friends then we haven't seen or heard from in years, and of course many other friendships have bloomed since then. Ken and I have grown and changed in some ways, but are still fundamentally as much ourselves now as we were then.
We celebrated yesterday with a hike, some mini golf and ice cream, and dinner cooked out on our grill. Today we'll hit a book store on our way out to dinner after getting some work done in the gardens. It's delightful to have the holiday weekend to celebrate (Memorial Day in the US -- so we have the Monday holiday). A toast to seeing it through.