It was exactly seven years ago tonight that we gathered on Tybee Island, just outside of Savannah, in the company of sixty or so of our friends and family, to tie the knot. We did not write vows, deciding that it might be more interesting to make them up on the spot. The beauty of this approach is that neither of us remember exactly what the other one said. Some nights I assert with great confidence that among Robbi’s promises that night was a nightly foot massage. On the other hand, I am unable to provide evidence to contradict Robbi when she claims that an earnest vow to do the dishes—on demand, every day, forever and ever—was part of my nuptial offerings.

I’d share a photo of the event, but alas, we had a photographer malfunction that night. Having decided to save funds by hiring a graduate student to do the deed (how hard could it be, anyway?), we are left with no photos but ones in which our heads are cut off. But the memories are sweet. We’ve discussed doing it again some day.

Here we are a few weeks back in Japan, as we were finishing up the seventh year of this wild ride.

So far, nearly nine hours in, year eight has been outstanding.

More on that to come.