What are the odds, I wonder, that a couple of crazy teenagers would get married, and 33 years later would find themselves still married? It happens, I can tell you that for sure. Today we celebrated John and Suzanne’s thirty-third year together (it’s the amethyst anniversary) with a brunch for family and friends. It was a low key couple of hours, which is how we like it.

In the early years of their marriage, they were known for their annual parties. Now, sitting around and talking is the quintessence of merrymaking. (Talking about grandchildren and colonoscopies, which I believe were hardly ever mentioned at the parties in the old days.)

There were about twenty of us. I didn’t actually count, so this is an estimate based on the fact that we mostly filled both sides of the long banquet table (hidden away in the Red Room, with blinds pulled shut on all sides of us). Plus Aiden in his high chair (for as long as that lasted). Plus Kylie, in her bouncy chair on the table as a lovely and exotic centerpiece (sometimes sleeping, sometimes slyly eavesdropping on adult conversations).

The guests of honor enjoyed themselves, and the rest of us did, too. Of course, they haven’t actually made it to 33 years yet, but the anniversary is Friday, so they have a good shot at it. They actually have a good shot at 34 (opal) and 35 (coral), and even 42 (real estate) and 44 (groceries). I’m looking forward to those brunches as well.

I have to confess that brunch isn’t usually my thing. It just comes too early in the day for me to enjoy eating. I filled my plate once, and that was all I could manage at the horrifically early hour of ten o’clock on Sunday morning. Needless to say, I didn’t do any of the planning. (If I had, you’re thinking, there wouldn’t have been a celebration at all, and you’re probably right. Planning isn’t my thing, either.) I took full advantage of the good company and warm feelings, however.