|April 1, 1996: Our first anniversary|
The morning of our first wedding anniversary, Ivaan announced that he was taking me on an all-expenses-paid shopping trip. Our destination was to be a surprise, however. We headed out by TTC, Ivaan leading the way, and about 40 minutes later, I found myself being led not into Holt Renfrew as I'd hoped, but into Home Depot.
I wasn't disappointed, but I confess to being slightly surprised. However, I was part way through renovating our house, so I decided to make the most of the opportunity. I began by selecting some wooden mouldings to frame doorways. Now, just to be perfectly clear, when I say that "I" was part way through renovating our house, I don't mean "we" were part way through renovating our house. No. You see, Ivaan was not a renovating type of guy, and for Ivaan, even snow shovelling, lawn mowing and taking out the garbage all fell into the category of "renovation".
It's lucky that I enjoy renovation, in the widest sense of the word, because with the exception of one notable occasion - the subject of an upcoming blog - renovation was solely my responsibility.
I had selected enough wooden mouldings to trim all the doorways in the second floor hallway when Ivaan mentioned the sole condition he was imposing on this all-expenses-paid anniversary extravaganza: whatever I chose, I had to carry home by myself on the TTC. Wooden door mouldings are heavy. They also come in eight-foot lengths. In case you are wondering, it is rather difficult to manoeuvre an eight-foot length of lumber through the front doors of a TTC streetcar. When one is carrying eight of them, it is next to impossible, but I managed somehow. Once on board, Ivaan suddenly began to pretend he wasn't with me. He rolled his eyes and exchanged disapproving glances with the other passengers. On one occasion, he muttered loudly, "SOME PEOPLE..." It was impossible to carry the pieces of moulding vertically, as they were too long. I didn't want them resting on the floor where they would get dirty and trip people, so I had to balance them on the backs of several seats, rendering those seats inaccessible for other passengers.
Ivaan took a photograph of me and my lumber after we disembarked at the King and Portland streetcar stop. I still have the picture. For some reason I was smiling. Perhaps I was wondering what he would dream up for our next anniversary.
The morning of our second anniversary, Ivaan announced that once again he had a surprise in store for me. We headed out early in the morning, Ivaan leading the way. After a fairly lengthy walk, he stopped outside a blood donor clinic. opened the door and motioned for me to enter. If you've been a blood donor in the last couple of decades, you'll be familiar with the detailed questions that potential donors are required to answer aloud before their pint of blood is extracted. I've never been able to get through answering the questions without laughing, which often starts the person asking the questions laughing as well.
Ivaan sat in the waiting room with a magazine while I donated blood. Once I was finished, he took my arm and escorted me to a nearby coffee shop. I sat down while he ordered a couple of coffees, then beckoned to me to peruse the baked goods in their display case. "That lemon poppyseed muffin looks good. They're baked right here on the premises", he said. "Why don't you order it?" "No, thanks, I'm not hungry. Coffee is fine", I replied. Several times he tried in vain to get me to order the muffin, until I became slightly irritated and suggested he order it himself, if he felt so strongly about it.
Ivaan sighed deeply. With a pained expression, he asked me, "Why do you always have to have the last word? Can't you just agree with me for once?" The sales clerk was watching us intently, probably wondering if we were about to have a huge argument. I began to feel slightly embarrassed. Biting back a stinging retort, I suggested we share the lemon poppyseed muffin. After all, it was our anniversary, and I wondered if his criticism were perhaps justified. The sales clerk put the muffin on a plate and brought it to our table with a knife so I could cut it in half. I was careful to cut it right down the middle, so Ivaan would feel like he had won. Part way through cutting through the muffin I heard a decidedly un-cake-like clunk.
Now, I'm very familiar with bakeries. My brother is a baker. As a teenager, I used to work after school in the Harbord Bakery, which is coincidentally where I first met Ivaan. I once sliced through an entire cigarette embedded in a loaf of light rye bread. I've heard all the urban legends about lumps of aluminum foil, stones, and even small rodents being found inside loaves of bread. (Note to the legal profession: none of these instances occurred at my brother's bakery.)
That un-cake-like clunk sounded to my experienced ears like metal hitting metal. I put the knife down and opened the muffin with my fingers. Baked inside the muffin was a beautiful heavy gold ring by Ivaan. The poor sales clerk looked as though she were going to collapse. She'd had to keep a close eye on that lemon poppyseed muffin all morning, to ensure that no one else bought it before we got there.
Up until that moment, I'd have said that nothing could have surprised me more than the morning Ivaan proposed to me (on one knee, in his dressing gown, on the living room floor) but I think the anniversary muffin incident probably takes the cake.