thing #3423 i love about my husband: his random obsession with windmills.

On Saturday we celebrated six months of marriage with a romantic day of packing up our apartment and moving our stuff into a storage facility. Andy took this picture of me going upstairs in the apartment. I like it because you can’t tell how dirty my hair is.

I remember watching Andy take this photo. I was so sick, but so happy. We were in Norway on a work trip for me, and after two good days, I got sick. Andy did my job for me, taking pictures at the music festival when I could barely move. He traipsed through the snow to get to a pharmacy, where he spent 200 kroner on a bottle of Nyquil. He even found me the one baked potato in Oslo. (Sorry Oslo, I ate your one baked potato.)

I was half-awake waiting for him to get back to the hotel when this feeling came over me: “He’s going to take care of you for the rest of your life.” You’re probably thinking it was the voice of God. I’m thinking that Norwegian Nyquil had a little something special in it.

After we got home from the trip I went to my friend Lesley’s house. I told her I knew I was going to marry Andy, that I’d never been surer of anything.

The next day, he asked me to be his wife.

A conversation with my grandmother that made me feel like a loser.

Me: Do you have plans on Monday or Thursday?

Grandma: Nothing on the calendar.

Me: Great, can Andy and I take you to dinner?

Grandma: No thanks.

MY NAME IS LEON I WEIGH 43 POUNDS I’M NOT A WEIMARANER AND I’M AWARE THAT MY PAWS ARE BIG. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, are you gonna eat that cheese?

Whipped rutabagas, sauteed spinach, fried green tomatoes and pickled beets. Looks healthy, doesn’t it? I put an entire stick of butter in there.

This was the last morning of our honeymoon. The other elephant in the room was that we weren’t ready to go home.