Hello and welcome to An Altitude Problem, the blog who's author and author's husband have just celebrated lucky number seven. The surprise B planned was a trip to a close tourist destination we had never explored- the little town of Glenwood Springs. We hiked up to Hanging Lake, which was beautiful with it's twin waterfalls, but not half as impressive as the less heard of waterfall just above it, Spouting Rock. We wondered why we had not made the hike earlier, and actually thought Spouting Rock beat out our hikes to Hawaii waterfalls in novelty points. We dined at a cafe in town, then, full and feeling a bit too round for swimsuits, spent the rest of the afternoon at the hot springs, alternately paddling lazily in 90 degree water, then soaking in 104 degree water, smelling of sulfer and watching the clouds build. The ankle, so stiff and swollen after the hike, is feeling almost new today. Maybe it was the warm mineral water, or maybe the two days I've gone now without twisting it anew. Whatever it was, I'll take it.

That's right, faithful few, it has been seven years since we so airily repeated those vows and sailed into happily ever after. Insert cynical chuckle here- it's ok. And just because, in case one of my faithful few thinks that happily ever after is a myth, I would like to invite you to a small slideshow of just what happily ever after, at least ever after for seven years, looks like. Sorry if it bores you. But I am in the mood to look back, and realize that it must have indeed, been happily ever after, because I'm glad it happened.

Year one was the most turbulent, highs and lows, long evenings of nothing but cuddling in our tiny, silent house, just us and Mosey, the blue-eyed cat, tears and drama, frustration and annoyance and fun and adoration.

Year two saw us mature a bit and tire of the constant drama of year one, and begin our Colorado job, necessitating a shift in our home church, and therefore family and community, status, and drawing from each other the support we had gotten from other sources. It also saw us in the turmoil of losing family members to terminal illness while we worked, helplessly, five hours away. It saw us become used to each other's presence, take it for granted, and drop any pretenses we were still trying to maintain after year one.

Year three saw us living in two places, Kansas and Colorado, with a long summer of farming, a long winter of scrubbing toilets, and never out of each others sight, but simultaneously growing closer and driving each other nuts. It held almost as much drama as year one, fighting about money, fighting about fighting about money, making up, fighting about making up.

Year four saw us become management at our company, and too tired to fight, or make up, or even care. It saw us begin to live separate lives with separate worries, separate acquaintances, separate identities in a house packed with family and roommates.

Year five saw us as near strangers, my life lived between work and the ski slopes, the rec center, and the trails, and B's life lived between taking care of our guests, taking care of the office, taking care of everybody except himself, overwhelmed, while I wondered why he did not love me anymore and he wondered where I was.

The end of year five, then year six, saw your blogger realizing that a lack of love was never part of the equation, and realizing how much wifely support her dear B had had to go without while the energy that should have been given to supporting him and their marriage was expended on manic snowboarding, hiking, running and weightlifting, and general avoidance. It saw us mending the damage of years four and five, crying on each others shoulders as we came against the flaws in ourselves, admitting to apathy, and renewing the unconditional adoration of the year before year one. We began fighting again, to our relief, and the making up and forgiving, after it was all worked out, was sweeter than ever before.

Year six saw us, for perhaps the first time, becoming comfortable with who we are, together. It saw us seeking community, spiritual stability, mutual friends. It showed us the need to live alone, the importance of depending on each other for entertainment, conversation, and emotional support. Looking back, it felt like the first year of actually being adults.

Year seven saw us in our own home, alone, surrounded by our own things, our own personal touches. It saw us making sacrifices for each other that, it turns out, were not sacrifices at all- a day or two all to ourselves, hiking and biking together, working late together. It saw us recognizing that our last two and a half years together have been something that many only dream of, and that we are truly lucky. It saw your blogger becoming comfortable with all the things she will never be- athlete, artist, activist- as well as the things she will be- wife and possibly mother, friend, homemaker, laundry do-er and cook and hospitality worker with an athletic, artistic, activist-ic streak.

And two days into year eight- what will it bring? We hope more of the same. We know, possibly more than many others our age, that each day is a gift, and that we may not even have next year. Both of our lives have been affected by unforeseens, growing up witout a mother, losing other friends and relatives, and we agree that to plan ahead is to be made a fool of. But just the same... we are not especially planning to add to our family, but we are not ruling out the possibility either, feeling more ready now than ever before. We are not planning to lose or retain our job, but feel up to the challenge of either option. We agree on fundamentals, and disagree on policy, politics and diet, but we'd hate to resolve those differences and have to fuss about more serious matters in their place...

If you have gotten through that, you must be truly a fan of us, and you deserve the thank you that you have coming from us, for being our friend.