My six-year anniversary message

When I met Danah Akin Mitchell eight years ago, she had to have seen a half-crazy man embarked on an insane, impossible dream to create a major newspaper, despite what the balance sheets were showing.

And she somehow overlooked the crappy $415 apartment I was renting, or the fact I didn’t have health insurance or even any furniture in my living room other than a camping chair and upturned box for a sidetable. My TV was a hand me down from my friend Hannah, who used to work for me at The Oak Ridge Observer.

I was basically bankrupt at the time with a TON of company and personal debt, but Danah somehow overlooked all those embarrassing situations.

And for some crazy reason, she agreed to marry me, proudly accepting a small diamond ring that most girls would have turned their nose down at. I promised her then I’d make it up to her someday, and she’s somehow continued to believe in me, as well as encourage me, as I’ve moved on to yet another mountain, this one even higher and steeper.

She foolishly claims she’s the one who got lucky, but I know I’m the one who latched onto an angel and used every salesman trick in the book to convince her to spend the rest of her life with me. Now I just need to sell enough books to buy her a home in Disney. : )

16 thoughts on “My six-year anniversary message”

  6. Stan,
    I’d say that eight years ago your life took a decided turn for the (much) better. Congratulations on your 6th anniversary and keep working on more, one year at a time.
    Hey to Danah.
    See you soon.
    OG

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  7. It can never be understated how much the love of a woman can make you feel. Good for you and great idea to use all your Jedi mind tricks on her.

    I wish you and her all the best and I really hope you sale enough books that the home in Disneyland just one of many scattered all around the Earth, but it is a primary residence for tax purposes. If you are going to dream, dream in color!

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  10. That’s so sweet. Happy anniversary to you lovebirds!

    When I first met him, Mr. H had an empty apartment—except for kitchen knives, a futon mattress, and his clothes. His girlfriend had just moved out and took everything. I shrugged and here we are today. 😉

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