Life is full of incidents. Well, that goes without saying. But some of those incidents are rather special, even memorable. And some of those memorable incidents actually occur on holidays. And so it was this past Monday, Memorial Day of 2009.

This coming June will mark the end, for me and my wife Gwen, of the third year in our new home in League City, Texas. By the way, League City was on the 2007 list of the Hundred Best Small Towns in America. No fooling. And our modest little 1,250 square foot domicile has got to be one of the reasons that League City made that list.

For one, it is 110 years old. It is only 25 miles due north of Galveston, Texas, and it survived the Great Hurricane of 1900. Nyah. For two, it is situated on a double lot, making for a big back yard, with established oak, ash, pecan and cottonwood trees that are at least fifty years old. For three, the entire neighborhood, some five blocks by ten blocks, have been designated a Historic Region by the town, and is just chock full of well-preserved old homes and hundred-year old massive oak trees lining the streets.

It's the kind of place where, after cycling through a few dozen TV channels in the evening, you turn to your wife and ask, "Honey, would you like to go for a walk?" -- and her face lights up and she says "Yes! We haven't walked around the neighborhood for days!"

Money has been tight. Every spare penny has been going to pay off our debt (almost done now!) and for the essentials of life: food, utilities, gasolene and good wines.

But last month, a few rays of financial sunshine broke through the economic cloudbursts, and I saw fit to begin the rebuilding of the backyard DECK. Yes, the house came with a "deck" when we bought it, but it was tiny -- about 15 feet wide and 7 feet deep. One end comes up flush against the garage, and it has no railings or benches, which makes the whole thing seem smaller and shabbier than it should.

Gwen found a neighbor who was a semi-retired carpenter, and we drew up plans. The idea was to completely dismantle the old deck, powerwash the lumber (so we could reuse it), extend the length and width of the foundation, add more horizontal struts to make it less "bouncy", water seal it all, stain it, and put in a really strong ramp leading down to ground level.

The carpenter promised to make it good and make it cheap. Which means, of course, that it cannot be built fast. But we were in no hurry.

And so, Memorial Day arrived. Except for a few details, and a few coats of Cedar stain, the deck was finished! All 12' x 24' of it! Gwen bought a 10' x 12' pavilion with netting all around, and discovered to our amazement that it fit EXACTLY on the half of the deck that abuts the side of the garage. While she set it up, and put a card table inside, I fired up the ol' gas grill for the first time this year, over on the other end of the deck.

I had two T-bone steaks and four ears of fresh corn on the cob that I had bought Saturday. I tossed a salad. I rubbed the steaks with a mix of pepper, garlic powder and lavendar. I opened a bottle of Argentinian Malbec, 2007, a deep, deep purplish-red wine somewhat like Merlot, only better.

In a blender I put a whole 'mess' of flat-leaf parsely, a handful of celantro, a large clove of garlic, one serano pepper and olive oil -- and pureed it to the consistency of those "foamy" shampoos that are popular now.

I put the steaks on the already hot grill at 7 PM, just as the sun was dipping down behind the trees in my neighbor's yard. Gwen had the table set in the pavilian, and all the netting in place to keep out the skeeters. The aroma from the grill caused great curiosity in our cats.

The sun just disappeared behind someone's roof, when all was ready. I poured the wine. Gwen lit the candles. I served the steaks on our plates. She served the salad in our bowls. I plopped a double spoonful of "green foam" on the steaks. We ceremoniously turned our cell phones off. We toasted the last six years of our marriage. We toasted our undying love for each other. We toasted our new deck.

As the evening dimmed, and the cicadas were replaced by tree frogs and crickets, we had the best damned home-cooked meal we have EVER had. A meal -- indeed, an evening -- to remember and cherish for a lifetime.