It was 8 years ago that we threw a spectacular party under a big white tent by a lake in southwest Connecticut with 150 of our closest friends and family. Afterwards we were whisked off to NYC in that stretch limo, spent the night at the W Hotel penthouse where Eric Clapton frequently stayed (or so we were told). The next morning, we had breakfast on a private 700 square foot rooftop patio before heading off to JFK for the beginning of a storybook honeymoon in Italy.
It was a time of pure self-indulgence and fun. We enjoyed frequent socializing with friends, city living, travel, and copious free time. There were long walks together, lazy sunny weekends lying on the grass in the Public Garden, and quiet rainy Sundays curled up on the couch together reading the newspapers.