Twenty-six years ago today, on a Saturday at noon, Hank and I were married in Dallas at the architecturally grand Church of the Incarnation. What was intended to be a tiny gathering spun out of control after the news of our upcoming nuptials hit my university colleagues and his law firm. Suddenly, we were ordering invitations and planning a reception.

A dress. Oh dear. I needed a dress—not an easy prospect at that stage in a woman’s life. Yet, in a fortunate moment at a bridal store, I reached in between a row of stiff, puffy wedding dresses and pulled out a satin shift with long-sleeves and gorgeous tailoring. It had cost $600, but was cut to $300, then $150, then $75, and, at that moment, bore a price of $15. The shopkeeper’s theory was that no one could find the thing, thin and silky as it was between all of those bulky dresses. But I found it, and we still smile thinking about it.

The next problem was music. Well, the church had a fabulous organ, so there was no worry there. But suddenly an extraordinary young man, a music major named Geoffrey Moore who became a close family friend and today is a Methodist minister, decided to organize a madrigal group for the occasion. Snap! The music became exquisite enough for a royal wedding.

Now, the story of music at our reception, held at my university’s faculty club, was a different matter. Some guests surely expected something like a string quartet, considering what Hank and I did. Well, we did have a string band—Andy Owens’ fabulous Bluegrass band with whom I had traveled that spring to Saratov, Russia along with a medical mission organized by Highland Park Methodist Church where I served as organist. Bluegrass music invigorated every stop we made on the tour, including a middle-of-the-night hoe-down on a train platform in a remote village (you’d better believe that brought out a crowd!). My official job was to serve as a translator for the band, particularly at events they played. There are no words to describe how much fun we had. Their appearance at our reception came as a glorious “thank you” from them.

Of course we needed a real wedding cake. But, seriously, towers? We were too old for that, we decided. So a wonderful couple associated with philanthropic work for The Dallas Opera baked us a cake shaped like a grand piano, complete with white and dark chocolate keys! When the heavy white-chocolate lid cracked en route to the campus, we twined some fake ivy around it and let the good times roll!

The whole occasion went by in a woosh, as weddings do. Then we drove off for a 36-hour honeymoon in the swamps of Lake Caddo, East Texas, and were back to work on Monday. Like anyone reflecting on such monumental events, the image of relatives, friends, colleagues, and students is emblazoned on our hearts. For far too many of those magical people are gone from this earth. How grateful we are to them for what they gave us that day.

Realistically speaking, as a middle-aged bridal pair, we had to fast-track a lot of things, including creating a family through adoption of two kids from Russia categorized as “older.” Well, they surely weren’t older to us, novice parents who had all the same stumbling blocks as any other, with a few issues of language and culture thrown on top. Both kids changed our lives and made it a greater adventure than we ever could have hoped for. Both have given us beautiful grandchildren too. Thank you, Helen and Dennis.

Along the way came new landmarks, like the founding of SMU’s Summer-in-Germany study program which began with a conversation Hank and I had in summer 1998, watching eight-year old Helen chase pigeons through a verdant arbor in a square outside of Goethe’s house in Weimar. Surveying this lovely formerly East German city that overflows with literary, artistic, musical, and historical significance, Hank turned to me and said, “You should start an SMU summer program here.” I’d like to report that I replied: “What a fabulous idea! Let’s do it.” Instead, I looked at him, aghast at the idea, and probably managed an “Are you serious?” But he was right, and I got over it and did it, thanks to a lot of wonderful students who would spend magical, life-changing summers studying in Weimar! For Hank and me, our kids, and now our grandkids, Weimar remains a big part of our lives.

Then the craziest thing happened: apparently domestic cats and dogs were not enough. We had to get a ranch, which meant me retiring from SMU and moving 100-miles northwest from Dallas to Bowie, Texas. There we embarked on the third greatest education of my life! The first had been working on my dissertation in the USSR; the second was raising children; but this one taught us how to raise goats, cows, and horses. We bested the rattlesnakes including the one in the garage, got used to regular stretches in a tornado shelter (a metal box bolted to the same garage floor), and experienced our first massive wildfire which hovered at the edge of our land and wreaked terrible damage to the county.

Without question, we formed some of the deepest friendships of our lives with ranchers and community folks in Bowie, including through our little mission church where we gathered another choir to sing elegant annual Lessons and Carols services. The depth of friendship for folks living in the country is something you have to experience to believe.

During those ranch years, two more unexpected developments changed our lives: the founding of Professor Carol and the beginning of my work as a professor on tours for Smithsonian Journeys. Those two ventures are still going strong, even though international travel for the moment is halted.

Not a single thing above could have been imaginable the day Hank and I walked down the aisle. This narrative would have been doubly unimaginable the day we met at Baylor University in April of 1993 when I was secretary of the Southwest American Musicological Association and scheduled to read an 8 a.m. (yikes) paper on Prokofiev. Looking down the program, all I could think of was: What is a lawyer doing reading a paper at a musicology conference? Clearly, I didn’t know about his Ph.D. in music theory or his life as conductor or a horn performer.

Well, those of you who know Hank, or are familiar with his book The Basics of Copyright: A Guide for the Non-Lawyer or his course on our site entitled “Rudiments of Music Theory,” realize just how clear, persuasive, and quietly charming Hank’s thinking is. And that mind was on full display at this musicology conference!

Subsequently, I invited him to address one of my classes (after all, the thorny issues of copyright affect all musicians who compose, arrange, and perform). Students from that undergraduate class still recall Hank’s clever approach, allocating roles to them of composer, arranger, publisher, attorney alleging infringement, attorney for the defense, judge, and maybe even the lady next door, and making them defend their positions. Watching him teach that class, I was a goner.

Meanwhile, although Hank will not want me to write this, I am going to write it (after all, it is my blog). Hank is the main force behind so much of what happens in Professor Carol, particularly in terms of the design, editorial, technological, and visionary ideas that comes from his quiet, always percolating brain. Yes, I do my share. I definitely do my share of talking too. A silent partner I will never be!

But it is his never-ending spirit of inquiry and unflappable drive that makes it all happen. His super-human patience allows him to sit for hundreds, yea thousands, of hours figuring out the complexities and solving the problems. His love of music fuels those astonishing (up to what, Hank, 300?) Friday Performance Picks that so many of you love and utilize. His endless creativity sparks most of our new projects: “Maybe we ought to do. . . .”

And his wit? Well, just as when the light of the sun hits something shiny, many of you are familiar with Hank’s dry wit—the kind you shake your head over while you smile.

So Happy Anniversary, Hank. Thank you, sweet man, on behalf not just of me and your kids and grandkids, but on behalf of those who so kindly have written and told us that our work helps you in your teaching and in your lives. I am honored to be on your team, Hank. And together, we are honored to serve each of you.