RIVER CITY JOURNAL: AN ANNIVERSARY AND A CAMPING TRIP: THERE'S A CONNECTION

There will be no tent to mark the occasion. Our sons are just paying me back for all the fun they had.

As it happens, today is our wedding anniversary. So indulge me for a few minutes. OK?

Night before last we were sitting in our comfortable chairs -- the recliners we miss every time we go on vacation or have to attend an overnight business meeting in a hotel -- and we were talking about some friends whose plans were in flux for a future weekend get-together.

I told Marge I had spoken to the wife of the other couple, and she had indicated they might not attend an event we share in common which is planned a year in advance.

"I don't know if they're ill or just have had other plans come up," I said.

Marge, who knows the daughter of the couple in question, said their plans, like those of many who have acquired a sizable account of birthdays past, might be altered by the vagaries of age.

"Their daughter is no spring chicken, you know," said my wife.

I only know the daughter secondhand, so I asked Marge how old the daughter might be.

"Oh, at least 35."

We sat in silence for a couple of minutes.

Finally, I said, "You know, we have a son who is turning 30."

Another moment of hesitation.

Replied Marge: "Yes, the same thought just went through my mind."

What's the point of this story?

For one thing, it tells you we've got some experience in the marriage department. We've got millions of memories. We have two grown sons and are exceptionally proud of both of them. We are still in fairly good health. We still enjoy being with each other. We still make lunch dates. And keep them.

The big question this morning, however, is this: Will Marge remember it's our anniversary?

I think I've told you before how conscientious she is about everyone's birthdays and other special events. She keeps a special calendar just to remind her to send carefully selected greeting cards when the time is appropriate.

But for 34 years she has had trouble remembering whether our anniversary is June 18 or June 19.

She has no explanation for this lapse. She gets kidded about it a lot. My guess is she has never really forgotten. I think she just wants to see if I can remember on my own.

I am, after all, the one with the I'm-old-and-don't-need-an-excuse-anymore disorder.

But I remembered. Just like I always do. Every year. Without fail.

Happy anniversary.

* * * * *

And now a quick update on the approaching visit of our two sons. Both of them. At the same time. A rare occurrence. Very rare.

The lure, it turns out, is not us. It's a camping-canoeing trip on the Eleven Point River. Bren, our younger son, read about it in an outdoors magazine. He enlisted his brother who said he would make time, but only if I went along.

I had pretty much retired from camping even when the boys and I were still taking our annual "roughing it" excursions every fall. We started when Bren was about 3 and Jason was about 7. Our first outing was to a nearby lake, and we slept in the back of an old station wagon.

Each fall thereafter it was part of the experience to find ways to upgrade. For example, we moved up to a tent. Then a rented camper. And so forth.

My goal, of course, was to wind up in a motel. Better yet, a hotel with air conditioning in a big city as far from campground toilets as I possibly could get. I don't mind saying that the outhouse on the farm in Kelo Valley was the biggest motivation I had for going to college and finding a newspaper job.

Eventually, we did just that. Our last "camping" outing was in the fall of 1987. We went to St. Louis and bivouacked in one of the big downtown hotels.

The idea of canoeing appeals to me, but the camping part is for someone else. When Jason blackmailed me by saying he wouldn't come to Missouri unless I agreed to the camping bit, I caved in.

I seem to recall similar negotiations when they were young. They were the ones doing the caving in, however.

I received the following e-mail from Jason this week:

"The three of us are canoeing. We're taking two canoes. This means Bren and I can bring along enough gear to build a Ramada Inn on the gravel bar."

I give up. For at least one evening in the splendid night air of Missouri in July, I will suffer the hard rocks and sleeping in wet clothes.

There won't even be an outhouse.

Bren asked in his most recent phone call: "Are you going to whine the whole trip?"

Yes, I think I will. I'm old and don't need an excuse anymore.

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.