Five years is wood.
I’v always loved celebrating the anniversaries in terms of materials. It started as a joke, with my mom giving the Boy and I paper one year, cotton balls the next, and it became something that focussed each year. When you are meshed, when your life is complete and whole because the other person is there, it’s easy to lose track of the number. Knowing the material of the anniversary gives me something on which to hang my hat. It gives a lense to my creativity. And Mason has risen to the challenge. (There are many, when married to me.)
On the first year, he gave me an elaborate Japanese wall hanging from my favourite paper store, and I made him a picture from our wedding with red silk stitched into the border.
On the second year, we bought each other cotton pillow cases, dressing our beds in bees and rock bands.
On the third year I gave him a wallet and he gave me a fancy black and white purse of leather.
Last year, for fruit and flowers, I made him bourbon and fig jam. He bought me a perfect dress covered in flowers.
This year is another favourite. Wood is full of beautiful metaphors for our shared life. The living wood that grows together, breathing in poison and breathing out life. Cut down, it builds our house and chairs and piano, everything that keeps us sheltered and joyful. Trees are an investment in the future, a bond taken in decades and demanding patience befoe fufillment. Trees are notoriously tricksy, bearing fruit one year and staying stubbornly bare the next. Wood is life, turned into permanence. It smells good too.
I have a hundred ideas for presents, things just for Mason, but we agreed a month to buy something big for the both of us: a big wooden mission style bed. It’s going to be great. And one day, just as we did this month for my grandparents, my family will have deal with an old, bulky, wooden bed. It will outlast us. Because: wood.
(Maggie is completely over watching me type. So no pictures this year.)