Nope, not us. (Though it is a bit of a landmark: this is—trumpets!—post # 1000 on this blog. Yay! Et cetera!) But yes, we shall break precedent, abandon the first person plural, and put down a personal post.
On this day, fifty years ago, my parents got married. And, despite the considerable stress given to them by their youngest issue, they're still there.
They gave me a happy, hassle-free childhood, sometimes at great cost to themselves. They gave me a love of books, of finding things out for myself, of art. They didn't shove their values down my throat, they demonstrated them to me, and if I chose not to take all of them, they didn't kick up a fuss. They respected my choices even when they didn't agree with them, never questioning that they were my choices to make, even though in hindsight, not all them were great decisions.
No big celebrations, alas, because Mum is still pretty much an invalid, and Dad has surgery scheduled in a couple of days, but hey, there'll be a cake, and a few friends to share it with. And they're there, together. That's a lot, yes?