I’ve been cooking a lot lately. Just tonight we ate barbecue that I had recently cooked industriously freezing the leftovers. I’ve made three different kinds of cookies in recent weeks and roasted nuts and made candied pecans. 

I like to cook and have regularly made home cooked meals over the time I’ve been married, but for the last two years I barely cooked at all. I definitely didn’t make cookies. It’s because for the last two years my husband, Bobby, has been working in Mississippi, four hours away. Since Bobby has the joy of working six days a week, weekend trips are less than ideal. So, we saw each other every other weekend. 

I felt weirdly disconnected from Bobby when he was far away. I can’t even imagine being married to an astronaut or someone who works on a submarine or a fishing boat in Alaska. At least I knew where Bobby was and could call whenever I wanted to.

Missing Bobby would come in waves. Sometimes it was intense and painful. Sometimes it was mild and almost forgettable. But it was always there, an ache, a feeling that something wasn't quite right. Since he’s been back a part of my heart and mind and emotions have been freed up. I’ve been more productive and creative, thus the cooking.

“Your absence has gone through me like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.” – W.S. Merwin 

Some people might have coped with the absence by cooking and baking more. But I just couldn’t drum up the energy and enthusiasm. Not like tonight. Tonight I baked Chocolate Dipped Potato Chip Cookies.  

If you don’t know me well or only see me at church on Sundays, you might not have known that I was living solo. I tried not to talk about it much. It was just too complicated. Plus, it made me feel sad. So, I let people wonder why my husband never came to church and I smiled and said, “I’m making it,” when people asked how I was. 

People who do the kind of work Bobby does often live like that, apart. But, for the decade plus that Bobby’s worked in the right of way industry, we’ve made every move a family affair, until now. Since the boys are all grown up and living on their own, this time it was just me and Bobby. When Bobby got the job in Mississippi, we talked about making the move together. But I have a job and a home and a mom nearby, so we didn’t feel like I could just up and move. So, I stayed put while Bobby up and moved. 

And it was odd. We made it work the best we could. We prayed a lot and talked on the phone. We took turns driving across the width of Alabama, like the state is Santa’s belly and our path back and forth was his belt. 

When I would visit Bobby, we would go on adventures and dates. We got out and about and took advantage of the fun activities offered in the bustling city of Meridian. When he came home, we tried to do things too, try new restaurants, visit family. But Bobby’s time at home more often lent itself to things we had been putting off, chores and to-do lists. 

When I was home alone, I walked the dog, watched Netflix, and had dinner with friends. I exercised and asked ChatGPT questions. But I didn’t really do much, you know? I don’t think I made great progress on any projects or goals. The dining room chairs still need to be recovered, and the family room needs to be redecorated. And I didn’t even notice that I was just surviving, that I was just keeping my head above water and getting by.

Now that Bobby’s back home full time it’s been interesting. I’m so thankful and relieved but it hasn’t always been smooth or easy. He doesn’t ever expect me to walk the dog, and he washes most of the dishes which is great. But, coming back together hasn’t been without its adjustments. I’m not naturally a very independent person but while he was gone, I had to be. If I didn’t clean, it didn’t get cleaned. If I didn’t write the tithe check, it didn’t get written. And no one would know but me. 

I’m really glad Bobby’s back. Life is settling back into what it’s supposed to be even though I sometimes wonder why sports are on the TV again or where all the dirty clothes came from. I’m thankful we’re back under the same roof. And I’m already planning what to cook next. I think it will be French onion soup, or maybe pumpkin dip with ginger snaps. 

A Little Effort at Friendship

While Bobby and I were working with refugees in Austria, I befriended a mother and daughter from Somalia. Nimco was regal, beautiful, calm and tired. Part of her fatigue came from caring for her teenage daughter, Ayan. 

They were living in a pension with lots of other refugees. Their room had two twin beds, a small refrigerator, a table and a couple of chairs. I liked visiting their room though it was always a little too hot and too quiet. Neither of these women spoke much English. Also, Ayan was almost always in bed, facing the wall, immobile. 

The situation in Somalia was dire. They had to leave their home which had been a very comfortable, affluent one. Ayan’s father had been an ambassador to Sweden where her older sister lived at that time with her family. But Nimco and Ayan were waiting. And it was boring. 

It’s not like they could bring books or other things to amuse themselves. They fled with their lives and not much more. So, now they were living in a country where they couldn’t communicate and couldn’t move on. 

Enter Amy. 

Though I often visited their room, we were rarely able to convince Nimco to attend our Bible study or a special concert. On the occasions she agreed, she made the evening an event. Before one concert we arrived to collect Nimco. She wore a brilliant, emerald scarf draped over her head and around her shoulders. It added to her queenly countenance and brought attention to her. But we were never able to get Ayan out of bed.

Until her sister arrived. 

Nimco somehow communicated with me that her daughter who lived in Sweden was coming for a visit. She asked me to pick up her daughter at the airport. I did and was pleased to find a lively, educated, English-speaking woman. I was finally able to communicate with Nimco and Ayan through her and piece more of their story together. 

For several days I played tour guide. Nimco’s daughter wanted to see Vienna and Baden. I drove them all over the city and took them to St. Stephen’s cathedral and the beautiful Vienna City Hall. 

Before her daughter left, Nimco indicated that she wanted to give me a gift. I tried to talk her out of it. I didn’t need or deserve anything she might give. That’s when she handed me a beautiful, unique necklace and bracelet. A reminder, even now, of the impact a little effort at friendship can make.

Go put on your socks… and come straight back here

Our son, Davis, got married in May. I’m thrilled to finally have another girl in the family. Their wedding weekend was beautiful and sweet. The dinner on Friday night was small and joyful. George’s Steak Pit in Sheffield, AL was intimate and delicious. They were more helpful than we could have hoped. 

That’s the scene of the following toast. On Friday night our families and closest friends gathered to spend a little time together, eat delicious steaks and Hershey Bar pie, and toast the beautiful, happy couple. Here is my toast to the bride and groom…

Hey, everyone. Thank you so much for being here tonight. Bobby and I are grateful you’ve all made the time to celebrate with us this weekend. 

When I started thinking about making this toast, of course I thought about what advice or prayers for y’all that I should share. I could share the advice my sister gave me before marrying your dad - “Trade ballet for basketball.” Y’all could trade thrifting for golf or something like that. I could also share the advice you and your brother gave to Aunt Ree before she married Uncle Keith. They got married the summer after you finished 3rd grade. 

Allen’s advice was “Always keep a pizza in the freezer,” and yours was “Let Uncle Keith read the newspaper.”

All great marriage advice. But, what really came to mind was a story from when you were little. 

As I already mentioned, Davis has a twin brother, Allen. When they were little, on school mornings, I would give them both the same simple list:
“Go put on your socks, get your shoes, bring them back here, I’ll help you put them on, and grab your school bag—you’ll need to put your lunch in there.”

The boys would scamper off and I’d turn back to making lunches or cleaning up breakfast. 

A few minutes later, Allen would reappear—socks on, shoes in hand, school bag already slung over his shoulder, ready to go. And I would help him finish up.

But Davis…I often found Davis in the hallway. No socks. No shoes. No school bag. Usually reading a book or happily occupied with something far more interesting than socks. Then I would help Davis finish his list but I’ll be honest—I probably wasn’t always as patient as I should have been.

After this happened several times, I realized something important: I needed to do things differently with each of my boys. To Allen I could still rattle off the full list. With Davis, I learned to say, “Go put on your socks… and come straight back here.”

So when I learned Davis was going to propose to Kailee, I was happy and excited. Kailee, I have been praying for you since I found out I was expecting and we are so thankful you are part of our family.

But if I’m being honest, as I started thinking about marriage—this beautiful, lifelong commitment—I had a very real moment of concern.

I thought, “Oh no… Davis is going to get overwhelmed. He’s going to end up sitting in the hallway with no socks, no shoes, and no lunchbox.”

So tonight, Davis and Kailee, I want to offer you two simple pieces of marriage advice. Nothing complicated. Just things you can come back to, one step at a time. 

First—find the funny.

There is almost always something in a situation that is ridiculous enough to make you laugh.

For example, when we were living in Texas, Bobby came home and announced he had taken a new job. I was thrilled… until he added, “It’s in Norfolk, Nebraska. We’re moving to Nebraska.”

I said “Nebraska? I’ve never even wanted to visit Nebraska.”

And we laughed.

Nebraska turned out to be a wonderful season of our lives—full of good friends and good memories. In fact, it’s still a little funny that the place I never wanted to visit is where Allen has chosen to make his home.

Life has a way of doing that. So don’t miss the humor along the way. It will carry you farther than you think.

Second, but most importantly—the Bible has already given you everything you need to know about love.

In 1 Corinthians 13:4–8, it says:

“Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance. Prophecy and speaking in unknown languages and special knowledge will become useless. But love will last forever!”

And, that is my prayer for you Babycakes, and for your marriage with Kailee. That you’ll both work really hard at being a good husband or wife, one thing at a time, and your love will last forever. 

To Davis and Kailee!

The Mess That Is Me

I probably shouldn’t even be writing this. People are coming over tomorrow night and there’s still stuff to do. Clean the bathrooms, grate cheese for the grits casserole, set up the dining table to hold the buffet. Stuff. But, it will work out. It usually does and even if it doesn’t, what’s the worst that will happen? 

For several months I’ve had a quote hanging on the wall in my family room. It goes, “Hospitality demands that I invite people into the mess that is me.” That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to do this year. 

I follow several accounts on Instagram that catalog the dinner parties and family gatherings of all manner of people - a mother and daughter in the midwest, a single man with a dog in the Hamptons, another man who has a strict list of the types of people he invites. And, they all were doing something that I wanted to do more often - invite people over.

I’m of the belief that you don’t get to know people over the back of a pew talking after church or sitting in a restaurant. You get to know people when you see where they live, what color their couch is and the linens used by their great-grandmother. 

And, I’m ready for that. We’ve lived in my hometown for 6 years and while we have friends, I am ready for something deeper, stronger. So, I started asking people over. 

Through hosting a group of women for dinner, some teenagers for Sunday lunch, two friends from high school and a summer supper club, I think I’m on the way. On the way to the kind of relationships and intimacy that I long for.

My home is far from perfect and there’s occasionally something slightly off with the meals I cook, but I’m here and I’m bravely welcoming people into the mess. Because hospitality isn’t really about your home or food, is it? It’s about relationships and getting real and being fully who God made you to be. 

So, while I definitely want the people who step across my threshold to be comfortable, to have their appetites satisfied. Even more, I want them to know they’re loved and cared for. I want them to feel like they belong, like they can open the cabinets to find a cup, or get seconds without asking, or scoop ice out of the freezer. 

And, I want them to want to curl up on the couch where they’re free to laugh too loud and stay too long. Because when I ask others into the mess that is me, that means I’m willing to step into the mess that is them. 

For tomorrow, the dining table will probably be pretty, the grits casserole will be delicious and I’ll happily hand everyone a yogurt parfait when they come in the door. We’ll share about our weeks and listen to the hard things we’re going through. And that will happen even if the bathrooms aren’t as clean as I would like or there’s a strange smell coming from the refrigerator. 

Because hospitality is all about inviting people in, even when, especially when, things aren’t perfect.

Not Your Typical Grandmother

When I was growing up my grandmother was different from other grandmothers. Grandmothers of her time had grey hair and wore aprons while they baked chocolate chip cookies and boiled collard greens. They wore sensible shoes and read the newspaper. It’s not that my grandmother didn’t do those things, she did. It’s just that she was also…fun. 

I should have realized this long before I did. There were signs that Grandmama wasn’t typical. Once looking through some old family pictures I spied a picture taken in Panama City Beach, FL. There was a little girl rinsing herself off in a spigot, my older? sister. The subject of the picture was definitely my sister. But standing beside her, smiling down, was a stunning woman. She had on the most elegant, one piece, black, strapless bathing suit. Her hair was curled and she looked like a movie star. She was so beautiful.  “Who is that in this picture?” I asked. “Is it Grandmama?!” I was shocked. 

This wasn’t the only thing that shocked me about my grandmother as I grew up and grew to know her better. But it was probably the first. She was a looker.

Grandmama married the love of her life quite young. She was adopted into my grandfather’s family and soon they welcomed a daughter, my mother. My grandmother was, at the time, sheltered and shy. There’s another picture of her in her early 20s. She’s standing with my grandfather and his large family. Grandmama has on a halter top and shorts. Her hair is long and curly. And, she looks miserable. I’ve always wondered what caused her to be so sad. That’s not the grandmother I knew.

Not too long after the sad picture was taken, my grandfather passed away. Grandmama was left to raise my 8-year-old mother alone. She must have been lonely and afraid, even surrounded by her husband’s family. But, she made a decision. She could continue being sheltered and afraid, living her life in the bubble of the Allen family. Or, she could venture out. She wanted to see the world and wanted my mother to experience it too. She started becoming the grandmother I would eventually come to love. 

The Grandmama I Knew

She got a job and moved with my mother to a town 30 minutes away. She took my mom and her cousins to Columbus to shop at Kirven’s and to Atlanta to see Holiday on Ice. She took them to have lunch at the Magnolia Room at Rich’s in downtown Atlanta where they ate chicken salad under the huge faux tree. 

Grandmama treasured her friends from work, the clubs she joined, and church. She served in leadership roles that required her to stand in front of our church congregation to pray and often attended a women’s conference at Camp Hargis near Birmingham. 

When I was in high school, Grandmama became the president of her local chapter of the Pilot Club International. Then, to our confusion and astonishment, she became the Governor of the Pilot Club for the state of Georgia. Our family made the trip to see Grandmama accept the office. It was one of the dressiest events I had ever been to. But a year later when she passed the gavel to her successor, we were even more amazed. Grandmama presided over the whole formal event in a black lace evening gown and when she finished her speech recapping her year as Governor, the whole ballroom of 500 people rose to their feet and cheered, like she was the Queen which I guess she kind of was. 

During her year as Governor of the Pilot Club Georgia, Grandmama and her friend Miss Sara drove all over the state visiting Pilot Clubs. Then, Grandmama flew to Miami for a national convention. I was impressed. At the time, people didn’t just jet to conferences long distances away, at least not in my world. 

My sister, who was in college at the time of Grandmama’s governorship, told a friend she was going to see her grandmother installed as the Governor of Georgia. Her naive friend gasped with wide eyes and said, “Your grandmother is the Governor of Georgia?!” My sister, realizing the misunderstanding, said, “No. You see, Grandmama is a Pilot.” And, her friend gasped again, “Your grandmother is a pilot?!” More explanations followed. You see, she wasn’t an ordinary grandmother.

Feeding Allen and Davis their first
birthday cake and ice cream

She was also funny. Once on the very long drive from Lanett to Gulf Shores for vacation, Grandmama started telling me a story about a creature called Galligator who was so ugly he could break a mirror by looking into it. I think she was afraid she was going to have to carry me into the hotel if I fell asleep. Her story kept me wide awake. 

It was her job to share a bed with me on these vacations. I don’t know if she volunteered or drew the short stick, but I was always her responsibility. I don’t think I was the calmest bedmate. After one restless night Grandmama told me that if I talked in my sleep again she was going to listen. Then, at the rehearsal dinner the night before my wedding when it was her turn to say something about her granddaughter, my grandmother rose to her feet and said, “Well, Bobby, I was the first person to sleep with Amy.”

Seriously?

For most of my growing up years Grandmama had a painting of the chapel at Callaway Gardens displayed above the fireplace in her little red house. Then, one Christmas we commissioned a famous local artist and friend to paint a picture of her home. Mr. Longshore lived around the corner from Grandmama and would walk past her house during his early morning constitution. Because of the slant of the sun, something Grandmama didn’t see often because she wasn’t up as early as Mr. Longshore, the light painted the wall by her driveway a beautiful light pink and that’s how the artist painted the picture. 

When Grandmama opened the painting on Christmas morning, we were all excited, knowing she would love it. We waited with hushed anticipation to see what she would say. “That would be my house if the wall wasn’t pink,” she quipped. Regardless, she was proud to have an original Jim Longshore take the place of her beloved Callaway Chapel above the mantle. 

Grandmama and me at my wedding

Grandmama loved beautiful things. She worked in an office in town and wore beautiful shoes to work every day. She had a thing for butterflies, amassing quite a collection of butterfly pins which she occasionally wore on her clothing in unexpected places, like the back of her shoulder. It made her laugh when people tried to brush the little passenger away.

She was a wonderful grandmother and I think my sister and I each carry some of her with us - her laughter, resilience, intelligence, daring, beauty. We both hope our hair is one day the effortless silver, gray of Grandmama’s. 

While she was the only grandparent I ever knew, I think she filled the shoes for four grandparents all by herself pretty well. I don’t have grandkids yet, but I hope one day all the friends of my grandkids will call me “Grandmama” like my friends did. I hope I can share with my grandkids the love and joy and bravery that she shared with me. You see, I don’t want to be a normal grandmother either. I want to be fun like Grandmama. 

Reversing the Revolution, One Loaf at a Time

I had just gotten off the plane when I started telling my husband, Bobby, a story about the guy I sat beside on my flight. The stranger was gentlemanly and interesting and when we landed, he jumped into the aisle to wait his turn to disembark. As I struggled to free my large purse from its prison under the seat in front of me I said, “Would you mind grabbing my suitcase?” Bobby stopped me, mid sentence, and said, “I would have thought you could get your own suitcase.” 

“Of course, I can,” I answered, and went on with the description of my flight. Just because I didn’t get my suitcase down doesn’t mean I couldn’t have. 

That’s true of lots of things. Just because I didn’t doesn’t mean I couldn’t. 

When I was growing up, I didn’t think about my future much. That may be why I had no idea what I wanted to study when I got to college. I hadn’t dreamed about being a teacher or an accountant. All I had really wanted to be was an Olympic gymnast, or a Rockette, or one of the dancers in a musical on Broadway. But, I wasn’t brave enough to set out and do any of those things on my own. 

Farmer's Market Haul

So after several years in Betty Thomas’s Bible study at Auburn University, I realized that I really wanted to be a wife and mom. I wanted to stay home with my kids to be the one who raised them day in and day out. I wanted to hear their jokes and wipe their noses and tuck them into bed at night. 

Bobby and I were dating when I realized I felt called to being a homemaker. We were serious enough for me to confess it to him. He thought it was a little crazy and weird at first, that I would want to stay home to take care not only of our children, but also of him. But, soon he came to love the idea as I did and decided that he too wanted me to stay at home, full time, if we had kids in the future. 

That doesn’t mean that I didn’t finish my degree or that I didn’t use it or that I don’t value it now. Because I did and I do. And would encourage any young woman to get her degree as well. 

But, Bobby and I did get married and we did have two amazing little boys and I’m thankful I got to live the life of a full time wife and mom. It was a huge blessing that not everyone gets a taste of. I made home cooked meals most nights. I sewed some of our boys' clothes and mine. I learned how to grind wheat to make bread and used our crockpot to make yogurt. 

Ice Cream Sundae

Not every stay-at-home mom does that kind of thing. But, I liked the idea of being a bit more self-sufficient than the average family, of contributing something tangible to our home and sustenance. I was amused and a little puzzled when my cousin Ginny arrived at my home one day and observed my bread making set up. “You’ve single-handedly set the feminine revolution back 50 years Amy!” She didn’t seem too upset when I gave her a loaf for Christmas though. 

My kids would joke about a family who lived down the street in Fort Worth. “They buy their bread at the grocery store,” one of the boys said. “They buy EVERYTHING at the store,” the other responded. And they laughed. I knew I wanted our family to live a natural, healthy, home focused life. I had no idea the boys were noticing. 

I also homeschooled our kids for 6 years. I loved it. While my kids don’t always look on that time with fondness, I think it was great for all of us - for the boys’ education and for our life as a family. And, again, I’m thankful we got to live like that for a while. 

I didn’t know it at the time, but I was a “trad wife.” I probably still am in some ways. I didn’t always wear a dress and I was never good at gardening. But, I did and still do consider Bobby the head of our family and I’m attracted to the beauty of a simple, slower life, strong family relationships, and meaningful work. 

Even if I hadn’t been able to be home full time, I still think I would have gravitated toward a quiet, pleasant home life with a traditional family order and old-fashioned skills. I always thought making jam with the figs from the backyard was fun and I’m happy my kids know what a from scratch cinnamon roll tastes like. 

Salad with Shrimp and Nasturtium Blossoms

I was surprised and excited to see someone like Julia Stiles’ character in the movie Mona Lisa Smile. Katherine Watson is seen throughout the movie dating a boy from Yale, doing his homework even, as she attends college at Wellesley. She’s astute and attractive and assertive. She has potential. She could rule the world. 

At one point Julia Stiles and her teacher, played by Julia Roberts, have an intense, emotional conversation. Julia Roberts has discovered that Julia Stiles wants to get married and have a family, not pursue a degree in the law.

Katherine Watson (Julia Roberts) says, "Do you think you'll wake up one morning and regret not being a lawyer?" 

Joan Brandwyn (Julia Stiles) replies, "Not as much as I'd regret not having a family, not being there to raise them. I know exactly what I'm doing and it doesn't make me any less smart." 

And I agree. While I may not have climbed the corporate ladder or built a brand, I believe that my time spent at home with my children was as intellectually and emotionally challenging as time spent outside the home would have been. Maybe more so because I was keenly aware that I wasn’t simply doing a job, I was raising two people who would eventually become men who would lead their own families. 

One of our boys recently got married. During their reception, one of my daughter-in-law’s best friends gave a beautiful speech. She talked about growing up with Kailee and the hard times they had been through. Parts of her talk were funny and parts were sweet. But, at one point she talked about how much she had grown to love my son, Davis, and his relationship with Kailee. 

Homemade Bagel Sandwich

She looked at me and Bobby and said, “To Mr. and Mrs. Britton - you should be incredibly proud of the man you raised. You truly did an amazing job.” 

Now, I know that a wedding is not at all about the parents, but in that moment I felt so affirmed and noticed. I felt like my choice to stay home, the sacrifices Bobby and I made to make it happen, and the occasional derision and ridicule had been worth it. It worked. Just like logging flight hours to be a better pilot, all those hours I logged being a mom had paid off. 

Because I chose to take a hands-on approach to raising my family and caring for my husband doesn’t mean I’m weak or stupid. It means I’ve chosen to use my womanhood, intelligence, and gumption in a way that builds up my family. Even though I’m perfectly capable of opening the door or getting my suitcase out of the overhead compartment by myself, letting someone else do that sometimes is really nice. It preserves an orderliness to the world I find comforting. 

Trad Wives aren’t a bad thing. While I don’t think everyone needs to make the same choices I have, I think there has been great blessing to myself and our family because of them. Sometimes it looked like sacrifice, sometimes it looked (and felt) like drudgery. But, most of the time it was beautiful and sweet and meaningful. It definitely wasn’t glamorous and my resume now may be lacking because of that time at home. But, I know better.

A Large Unhurried Swallow

I’ve always been a celebrate-er. I got so excited I could barely stand it when it was time to put the deliciously pink Queen of Hearts cut out on the front door for my birthday parties. When I practiced and practiced and practiced doing baton tricks in my front yard, I would celebrate 10 catches in a row (surprisingly difficult depending on the trick) by walking around the corner to Looser’s Grocery Store for a Snickers and a Coke. And when several of my friends got married or had babies, I was first in line to help throw a shower or plan a dinner. 

Celebrating is fun and I don’t think we do it enough. As my children have grown up and gotten too old and cool to celebrate the events in their lives, I’ve implored them to “mark the occasion” somehow. First day at a new job? Mark the occasion. Bought a new-to-you car? Mark the occasion. Hit all your exercise goals this month? Mark the occasion! And, it doesn’t really matter how.

Maybe you need a weekend away, or a new haircut, or a new outfit. Maybe you need to have all your friends meet you at the Mexican restaurant for dinner. Maybe you need to call a special friend to share all the gory details. Or, maybe you just need to treat yourself to a new bracelet from the booth you love at the antique mall. All valid. All great ideas. Just do something. 

Maybe that’s why we take so many pictures nowadays, to make the events in our life stick. To make them stand out, dripping with meaning and significance.  

When my son graduated from the University of North Alabama without once setting foot on campus in an academic capacity, it made sense for him to opt out of the formal graduation ceremony. But, just doing nothing to celebrate his graduation wasn’t a good idea. So, I convinced him to let us have a big family dinner at Oskar’s, a restaurant near Lake Martin. It was wonderful. We ate delicious food, visited, and decorated golf balls for Davis to use (to USE Davis!). 

There was a time during Davis’s engagement to my daughter-in-law, Kailee, when I thought we were going to have to mark the occasion of their wedding at the courthouse. And, we would have too, but instead they marked their own occasion with a beautiful wedding in Florence, AL. I’m thankful they took care of that for me. 

Marking the occasion is what weddings and birthday dinners and graduation parties are all about. It’s just doing something that’s special to you, something that you’ll remember, something that will make you think, “Awww. I love that we did that.” And, it doesn’t just have to be for a birthday or wedding or graduation. Maybe you need to celebrate the fact that your mom isn’t sick anymore or you finished everything on your to-do list, or you had a really good hair day. 

Davis and Kailee Marking the Beautiful Occasion

Do it! Celebrate. Mark the occasion somehow. You’ll be glad you did. It’s pretty important. I think there’s something scientific to it. You have a life event that’s meaningful and special, so you buy yourself some flowers, or a car, or a vacation. But, you do something thus marking this event and this memory as special and significant in your life. 

When I googled “mark the occasion” I found this: To mark the occasion means to do something special to celebrate, honor, or remember a significant event. Common ways to mark an occasion include throwing a party, having a formal ceremony, buying a gift, or raising a glass. 

When looking up synonyms I found a lot of stuff about raising a glass or drinking a toast and one mention of taking a quaff or draught. I wasn’t familiar with the word “quaff” but it means A Large Unhurried Swallow.

Ahhh. A large unhurried swallow. 

That’s it, isn’t it? The next time you feel the urge to celebrate finishing War and Peace or giving up biting your fingernails, you need to mark the occasion by taking a quaff. A quaff of wine, of life, of time with those you love. Large and unhurried. 

No! Ne'er was mingled such a draught 

In palace, hall or arbor, 

As freemen brewed and tyrants quaffed, 

That night in Boston Harbor 

Oliver Wendell Holmes