Marriage and jobs are a little different. For both we tend to look at things in 5s. Probably because surviving a 5 year period for both is surprising in this day and age.
That said I'm giving into the gods of conformity and loudly commemorating the decenium since my return from my mission in Paris. Here's a few classic Me shots from that time. Enjoy.
Why it seems like only yesterday I unloaded my duffle back into this strange apartment of guys with a giant pair of underwear on the wall. Why size 62" waist underwear you might ask? Well thank you for asking. Evidently [Elder] Kevin Johnson's friends sent them to him with the following story.
They were pranksters in their youth and would do things like buy tootsie roles wearing nothing but their skivvies. Evidently one prank involved one of them wearing the above shown undies and while in a grocery store somewhere in rural Utah he and his accomplice got into a "fight" at the cash register. The one wearing the not so tighty whities turned to walk out and the other one grabbed the back elastic band and pulled them up and over the others head. According to the story they heard an old woman in the background say something to the effect of "holy *%& Harold look at that boy's underwear".
I have no idea if the story was true but we wall mounted them none the less. Plus it gave us a place to keep our nerf basketball.
Foodwise I ate pretty well in France. Although sometimes I was lonely for conversation. Oh by the way, when in the Catacombs of Paris don't touch the bones. Seriously they'll totally bust you for it. Plus the owners of the bones will haunt you. Believe me I know.
It's hard to believe that 10 years have passed. What makes it more interesting from a familial level is that it's been ninety years since the Great War ended. My last day in France there were countless parades and decorations. The last few remaining veterans celebrated the commemoration at the Arc de Triomphe. It was that war that caused my paternal great-grandfather to lose his health. I never met him, he died in the 1940s. Yet still having walked the ground that he fought and bled and weezed (mustard gas you know) on, I can't help but think of him on this day. In some ways it's both of our anniversaries today.