My first date with Amy Goldman started out well enough. I was a sophomore in college at the time. I took her to China Palace (or rather, she took me - I didn't own a car and she scooped me up in her '82 Volvo sedan). But dinner was my treat. I can't recall what we talked about or what we ordered, but I do remember the fortune cookies at the end of the evening. Mine said: Even a blind hog finds the acorn sometimes. Hers, I imagine, was supposed to say: You will meet a beautiful stranger soon. But there was an unfortunate typo - and it took some coaxing to get her to share her fortune with me, which ultimately read: You will meet a beautiful strangler soon.
Several years later, I was working for the city of Glendale, in Parks & Rec. One of the other directors had been promoted and was moving on to a different division. I was in charge of ordering the cake for her send off lunch. I got others' input (nearly everyone was adamant about little to no frosting ("no nasty flowers!"), and I filled out an order card to explain the minimal decoration as best I could with the form provided. The cake came back with a simple, thin white satin top coat (great!) and, in thin blue cursive, it read: Congratulations! Nothing else - No flowers. We laughed about that for years.
Friends of mine had their first date four years ago. Engaged years later, the pandemic forced the postponement of the wedding date - and their celebration, like so many others, was lost in the abyss the pandemic. But two days ago, on 2/22/22 - four years to the day of their first date, they convened for the most intimate of ceremonies, and were married in the magical Sea Ranch sanctuary.
I am looking at a photo from their beautiful day. Thinking of them this morning, smiling. And thinking of all of you. Of all those simple, secret, or subdued celebrations. Of all the photos in your hearts from this past year or more. Of all the recent birthdays and engagements and graduations and holidays. New partners. New jobs. New digs. Maybe new members of the family now warming your homes, with tiny cries or little yips and howls, perhaps. And if we were even a small part of those celebrations, we thank you. Nothing thrills us more. But for those milestones that passed quietly or were missed in the mist of the pandemic, I just wanted to acknowledge them, and you, today. To share those joys. Even if they are not so new, they can feel that way again. We just have to raise a glass. So, here's to you. I just wanted to say, clearly: Congratulations! And everything else...
Yours,
Daniel