The jeweler pulled out a burgundy velvet-lined tray of wedding bands. A dozen or so gold and silver bands flashed in the warm light of the tiny shop in downtown Edmonds. Not plain bands, like the kind that accompany a diamond engagement ring. I had opted for a non-traditional engagement ring. In 1998 I was hiking and climbing and backpacking and sailing with my dad whenever I could. An engagement ring with an expensive stone that I would lose with little hooks and notches that would catch in my hair, on ropes, or get stuck in rock crevices was impractical. But could we look at a pair of matching decorative wedding bands, maybe?
And there was this set of bands that caught our eye. White gold solid “shoulders” at the top and bottom holding a yellow gold design in between. The gold design wasn’t filigree - it was almost architectural. It wouldn’t bend or get caught in something because it was thick and solid, but also delicate, with swirls and whorls and depth. Like the type of columns that spanned between Doric and Corinthian. It was Ionic, with solid scrolls and depth of design, but not simple and plain, but neither was it ornate or fancy.
It was the orange blossom design, the jeweler said, and that orange blossoms represented enduring love, because the orange tree can produce blossoms and fruit at the same time.
A few weeks ago, we celebrated our 28th wedding anniversary, and as I contemplate what almost three decades of marriage looks like (longer than either of our parents’ marriages lasted), I can’t help but examine the one thing that has stayed here this whole time. That wedding band.
What a symbol to reflect on as I revive this blog from 2011…fifteen years later. And what 2026 Shari knows that 2011 Shari didn’t.
Our kids made it. Not only made it, but are doing amazingly well. In 2011, they would have been 9 and 7. Not even double digits. Still in grade school. They had not yet experienced the intense emotions of middle and high school. They hadn’t had their hearts broken yet. Nor had their resilience and faith been tested by a worldwide pandemic that would change their educational experience and shape their worldview more sharply and poignantly than anything in at least two previous generations.
And here they are now. Calvin just got his first real job. Graduated from Georgia Tech with his master's and working as a civilian employee for the Air Force in aerospace.
And Natalie, the girl who always could quiet a barking dog, have birds land on her outstretched hands, and who would at age 13 volunteer to work with kids at Camp Prov and find her calling to go into occupational therapy and help neurodivergent kids. She is heading to graduate school in Florida in a few weeks to get her OTD from the University of Health Sciences at St. Augustine.
The fruits of their hard work over the years are coming to bear.
But it isn’t all work and no play with these two. They both love to travel, carrying with them the passion we imparted to them to find adventure and wonder wherever they go, from the jungle at night in Costa Rica, to a side street cafe in Manhattan, to a quiet mountain lake. Calvin has unbridled joy for the mountains and climbing. Natalie loves paddle boarding and the beach. They both love music. Calvin discovered the wonders of throwbacks from the 70’s and 80’s, while Natalie rocks her heart out at a SZA and Kendrick Lamar concert in the pouring rain. Calvin has discovered a love for birds and gardening. Natalie remains the creative artist in so many ways, channeling her creative side into crafts and nail design. Their creativity never ceases to amaze me.
Both are finding ways to blossom and grow.
And Laurence, still working at the UW APL. The foundation of a program that is holding strong because of his work and dedication. Even after multiple leadership changes and UW budget cuts, still working hard. And still the most amazing dad I know. He loves to wander through antique stores and art galleries looking for that one treasure that speaks to him.
And me? Between having four different jobs since 2011, going through full-on menopause, watching my kids grow up, and my parents becoming octogenarians, and both Laurence and I get grayer and a little softer around the edges, what else is there to say? I’ve stood at the edge of disasters and been in spaces filled with sorrow and unimaginable grief. I’ve pushed myself to explore some of the most remote places in the Western Hemisphere. I’ve seen exquisite sunsets over Hawaii, the Strait of Juan de Fuca, and the Alaskan Range. And I’ve lost beautiful souls, faith in some of the systems I thought I could trust, and had to have my life’s scaffolding shattered to find myself.
Fruit and blossoms tangled messily in one tree.
We have new cars, different clothes, expanded our palate, listened to new music, traveled to far-flung places. Our routine, as empty-nesters, is different. Events locally and nationally and globally have shaped and reshaped our views of politics and community.
But here we still stand, Laurence and I. Both bound by these rings. These orange branches twined around each other, bearing fruit and blossom at the same time.
2011 Shari only needs to know one thing, and I think she did: the tangled, imperfect messiness is perfect.
