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different places.  We have more ailments and less teeth.  My husband's foot tapping has slowed and my memory takes short vacations.
• However, strange as we have become, we are still the same people.  When our Best Man (whom we haven't see in twenty years) toasted us with a goblet of champagne, I had visions of picket fences and sweet-faced children, tire swings and sandboxes, kittens and hamsters, trips to the beach and lazy summer afternoons.
• My husband was sure that he would be a millionaire by the time he turned 30, though he had no plan for that.  After that goal was attained, we would travel the world on a sailboat which we'd call home and learn to scuba dive and hang glide.
• They were worthy goals.  We probably should have known that we would need to compromise, but we were in love.  We knew we could work it out.
• Our children could have been sweet-faced, I'm not sure.  It was hard to tell with all the Kool-aid mustaches and chocolate ice cream smiles.  A picket fence would not have helped to corral those intrepid little rascals, though.
• Becoming a millionaire by age 30 might have been possible if there weren't so many mouths to feed.  We should have had a better plan.  Or better yet, any plan.
• We had the sandbox, but the kittens, which grew into cats (who knew!), couldn't

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