Eleven years, eight days...

                Early Sunday evening, and I would love to lay down and take a nap; but it is too late for that.   I got back to the house about 3.30 pm—which would have been an excellent time to have a kip.  Especially since “The Maverick” is working this evening.  Instead, I check my e-mail, played card games on my computer and checked the TV guide listing for tonight.

 Inside my mind waged this little battle of laziness verses determination to write a blog post.  Hmmmm…to give into my sleepiness and satisfy my lethargy, or live with the guilt and disappointment from a lack of disciple and nothing to show for my afternoon?  Which option do I prefer. 

                The “I shall persevere” won. 

                Today is Sunday, 26^th January.  Eleven years  and eight days ago The Maverick and I exchanged wedding vows at Indianapolis Christian Fellowship on a snowy Saturday afternoon.  The morning started out bitterly cold, clear skies and sharp, biting wind.  Carrying a cup of coffee and a breakfast sandwich from McDonalds, I trudged through the re-frozen snow of the church parking lot to the building.  I was the first one there—arriving about 9.30 am. 

                By 2.30 pm that afternoon, the temperature had dropped a bit, the winds had brought grey, snow-laden clouds.  I stood at the back of the church, next to the coat racks, listening to the Twila Paris song, “He is Exalted” playing over the loud speaker, and watched my bridesmaids proceed into the sanctuary. 

                The back doors closed, and I walked to my place, on the arm of my friend’s arm.  The music swelled and the doors opened.  I looked at “The Maverick” and “Major Will” (who was officiating the ceremony.)  “Major Will” had and ear-to-ear grin on his face.  “The Maverick” had dropped his jaw, and I could see his eyes fill with tears of joy. 

                During the ceremony there were moments of quiet reflection, moments of laughter and moments of rejoicing music.  I don’t remember all the finer points throughout, but I do know that at the end of the ceremony we were husband and wife. 

                Last Saturday, 18^th January, “The Maverick” asked me if I wanted to invite anyone to join us for a meal out—to celebrate our special day.  We asked “Ms. Celia” to join us.  “Ms. Celia” was kind and provided a lift to the restaurant to which we went—Le Bettola--http://www.labettola.com/

                I worked at Worldspan Inc. in Hayes, Middlesex from 2004 to 2007.  I commuted to Hayes on the 81 bus daily, which drives by Le Bettola every day.  “The Maverick” rides his bike past the restaurant on his way to work at  the airport.  We wanted to find someplace other than the regular eating places we have eaten at before.  This was a celebratory meal.  When he asked me if I wanted to go there, I was delighted.  I’d wanted to eat there for years. 

                Only one other family was in the restaurant when we walked in, which seemed curious; that is until I realised it was early, only about 6.30 pm.  The 7.30 pm, the place was busy. 

                Le Bettola is a traditional family-run establishment, with bed and breakfast rooms available upstairs.   The atmosphere is an interesting balance of rustic yet contemporary.  The back part of the restaurant is a banquet room that can be reserved.  But for this evening, it was open.  It is actually a conservatory with a grape vine growing along the ceiling rafters.  In the summer the vines actually have grapes which are used for a house wine. 

                Seeing as how I am tea-total, I ordered lemon aid.  “The Maverick” and “Ms. Celia” shared a bottle of house wine.  The drinks came with bread, butter and a dish of olives with chilli.  Although I usually don’t like olives, for the sake of the evening, I ate two—which were flavoured with garlic as well as chillies.  The bread was warm, the crust crunchy. 

            For my entrée I ordered Spaghetti Cartoccio, which is spaghetti prepared with mixed seafood and baked in the oven.  “The Maverick” and “Ms. Celia” ordered Tagliatelle Volare which is

tagliatelle with squid and prawns, tossed in white wine, chilli and garlic, finished with a concasse of fresh chopped tomatoes.  It’s been some time since my taste buds were that happy!  The pasta bowls were full—and if you left hungry, it was because you didn’t eat! 

If you live close to Heathrow, Windsor or Hayes, Middlesex and want authentic Italian—then Le Bettola is the place to go. 

                I’d tell you what I had for dessert, but I don’t know the name of it.  But, it had ice cream, cream and coffee in it. 

                Unlike a lot of restaurants, who have one server per table, the food was served by several people—including the owner.  When one of them had a moment, they would stand and answer questions:

 “Is that wisteria? “

                “No, madam; that is a grape vine.  And if you come in the summer, you can see the grapes hanging down.”

                “Are the olives roasted?”

                “No, they were seasoned in a pan of butter, garlic and chillies.  It’s a traditional recipe.”

                “Is the bread brought in?”

                “No, we make all our bread here on site.”

The music playing subtly in the back ground, was a mix of contemporary soft rock and traditional Italian music.

                Our decision to visit Le Bettola again was unanimous, especially as the meal for all of us was very reasonable. 

               

                I am so thankful that “The Maverick” and I are so blessed.  Each year I think about how long I waited to get married; honestly, being a wife to “The Maverick”—who is kind, generous, funny, resilient, committed to God and tome—was worth the wait.