Renewing Vows

Recently I said to Sara, who helps me and tutors me in all things technical, I should have more of a profile on Facebook. My list of friends was expanding, G-d bless, and so it would be a nice idea. So we edited the profile to include my status (married) plus my kids” name.

Nothing had prepared me for the stampede that followed. I received a few hundreds (no exaggeration, promise!) urgent and hearty messages of congratulations. The gist of most of them was, wow, kudos to you old lady, renewing vows, going for love so late in life: You go Bubby! I read and re-read that one word: Married, and tried hard to understand how it had unleashed such an avalanche of good wishes, but most importantly, how so many people had misunderstood me. Did I say anywhere that I got married? No, nothing of the sort, only that I was married. I thought a little post will clarify everything: Hello, y”all, I”ve been married 34 years, just thought it would be the right thing to do to mention it.

Boy, was I wrong!

It only got worse. Where did you meet? What”s his name? Pix, please! Sensing I could maybe capitalize on the misunderstanding, I totally changed gears: Here is my bridal registry list, I said. The whistle on my kettle has been reduced to an asthmatic whiz after all these years, and my pots and pans are, well, they have taken much the same hit we have after all these years. Gosh, how much do pots and pans go for these days? Oh yes, and we need new linens, new dishes, new everything.

Renewing vows in style

Hey, why not? They have all offered, haven”t they? Of boy, a million and one things badly need refreshing around here. But I remembered in the nick of time that all my kitchen gear had served me faithfully all these years. I was reminded of a time, a couple years ago, when I gave a cooking demo showcasing a brand of very luxurious cookware; my presentation fee consisted of 3 magnificent pieces of cookware. When they arrived at my home, my first impulse was a triumphant “Good riddance! Move over blackened bottoms missing screws, come over spiffy pots and pans, about time!” But at the precise moment the switch had to be effected, it is exactly the opposite that happened: The gorgeous spanking new cookware was relegated to a storage cabinet, where it still is, the way I would put up a concubine in a maid”s room (if there was a concubine or a maid room, that is!). My old banged up pots and I, well, we were all missing some screws after all these years, we are all tarnished around the edges, but boy, did we -and do we still, more than ever- whip up some fantastic feasts! We”re not going anywhere!

And my new-old husband and I? We”re not going anywhere either! We are renewing vows, same way we do everyday: same old same old