Pistachio Anniversary

A few days ago, we triumphed to our 25th wedding anniversary. Ilkka returned the day before from Iceland and Finland, in honor of our event. How, exactly, did we celebrate? Well, I found my husband glued to the television as he watched Ted Kennedy's funeral, a carton of Haagen-Dazs Pistachio ice-cream on his lap, the spoon lovingly held between his fingers.

"It's our anniversary," I said. "Are you just going to sit there, stare at the funeral procession, and pig out on ice-cream?"
He looked up, spooning the remainder of the ice-cream, which had melted into a sweet syrup. "What more appropriate way to celebrate a wedding anniversary than by watching a funeral?"
"Like, you mean, it's symbolic?"
"Kind of—" he shrugged.

Which reminds me. My daughter, Anna and her fiance Andrew Blick will be getting married in a matter of months. Twenty two years ago I waddled around Green Lake, in my almost tenth month, while desperately trying to prompt her out of the womb. Anna was a large baby; just under nine pounds, with elbows and feet that kept jabbing my insides. Ilkka was given time off from one of the Wagnerian operas to assist at her birth. I seem to have a hazy recollection of trying to use all the various labor techniques with my husband, like deep breathing exercises and whooshing sounds, only to conclude that his presence in the delivery room fueled my discontent, though admittedly, he looked handsome in scrubs. After two grueling days of non-stop contractions, Anna Mirjam Talvi announced her way into the world with a piercing scream, while bewitching the entire birthing unit by her fine, cherubic features. "No Cone-Head for us," muttered my husband. "She's beautiful."

"You smell just right," my husband says to me, alluding to pheromones and their powerful means to attract, which results in a "perfect genetic match". The ice-cream carton is emptied; the television switched off; Facebook can wait for one more day. I inhale. He smells of pistachio. I can tell you, I'm good for at least another twenty five years with this man.

Photo by Sarah Talvi