Our Fifth First Date…

Every year, on the anniversary of our first date, my Piano Man and I go on another first date. Our fifth first date arrived a month late—my health was being a jerk on the actual date…  So we waited until my tummy was stable enough for its first mildly wild eating day. When I stopped consuming many of the foods I used to eat (mostly sugary stuff, meats, dairy, wheat…), I allowed myself three special times each year for one of my favorite treats: sweet French vanilla coffee on the anniversary of my little brother’s death, Dominican cake on my birthday, ice cream and pizza on my handfasting anniversary.

We took the subway to South Ferry. The train ride lasts over an hour, so I listened to Necronomicon, by H. P. Lovecraft; and my Piano Man delighted in Good Omens, by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman (I love that we enjoy the same book so much). There might have been PDA and giggling that annoyed the ghosts who shared the car with us *cough*.
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In South Ferry, we boarded a boat to Staten Island… and took an obscene amount of selfies.
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Then came the treats… Oh my freaking gods of gastronomical restrictions, my Wicked Luvs, I never knew ricotta cheese and olives on a hunk of dough could taste so good (after not having it for a year). And my scoop of coffee ice cream, dipped in chocolate, was orgasmic.
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After pizza and ice cream, we walked to the place where we shared our first serious kiss. I had a conversation with a brace of ducks; my Piano Man fed a squirrel; I might have climbed a fence to pick mulberries; we walked through a graveyard; and then rested at the same spot where my love asked me to marry him—the photo in the middle… the others, starting at the top left corner, and going clockwise, are pictures from former first dates.
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I’m completely in love with the tradition we’ve created to celebrate our love.
Do you have any personally crafted traditions you might like to share, my Wicked Luvs?
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Mrs. Witch Writer and Mr. Piano Man, One Year Later…

One year ago, at around 3:13 pm, my Piano Man and I exchanged our vows while encircled by a handful of people very close to us. It was a day ruled by love, music, food, smiles…
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This doesn’t mean that the ceremony went smooth. Doing things while your hand is tied to another person’s hand is difficult: we dropped a bowl of raspberry dressing, we cleaned up the mess together; my Piano Man couldn’t tie his shoes, I helped him; I stepped on some mint and my feet began to itch, he washed them for me… We made it work, and laughed madly while we were at it.
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Getting handfasted was a natural thing; a comfortable thing that made us more…
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…much more and greater than we were before.
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The Little Princess was a star. She changed her dress 3 times, and danced like a lunatic.
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My Boy kept us smiling, and made me dance like a lunatic.
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Papi was quiet, shy… and quite handsome, if I may say so myself.
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My Piano Man’s Mom was wild. She danced probably as much as the Little Princess.
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My Piano Man’s Dad did a lot of smiling, and danced even though his knee was killing him.
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At the head of the ritual, helping us tie the knot (literally) were two great men, whom we chose because of their huge hearts and our admiration for their love for each other.
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My maid of honor, more like a sister really, might beat me senseless for sharing this picture. But I will take the pain, just so I can show you the glow of her smile.
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Meet my Piano Man’s best man, one of his best friends. Can you tell how much he adores the other lady in the picture? Yep, we were surrounded by pure love.
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After one year handfasted to my Piano Man, I can’t predict what the future might hold for us; but my witchy senses tell me that regardless of what it might be, my husband and I will walk towards it together…
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