For the next anniversary, we planned on spending more time with each other and restoring the anchor seemed like a project we could share without spending too much on the bill, so we suited up, dived in and stayed up late, albeit swaying occasionally but we’d reach for the band to secure us; filing and filling the rings, priming and painting until months later the gleaming crown resembled something new, something not out of place in a Marine Museum.
We fixed that shiny anchor on a customised stand right where the TV used to be. A conversation piece out of the sea.
As it goes, by the next milestone, we’d outgrown our fixation with nautical weights. The anchor’s pallor darkened the room, the fluke disrupted Feng Shui, so we went for the throat – grabbed the anchor and swapped it one night with the couple next door for a pair of spinnakers lifted from an ocean-going yacht.
Now, we spend our evenings leaning from the living room window; hand in hand, sails breeze bound.